


Whizzer Always Lands on His Feet

by Cade Welentine (cadewelentine)



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cheating, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Polaroids are a framing device, Smut, Whizzer gets a brother, Whizzer's past, some is implied, some is stated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadewelentine/pseuds/Cade%20Welentine
Summary: In going through Whizzer's belongings, Marvin and Cordelia come across a box of Polaroids that chronicle Whizzer's life, and each learns new things about a man they thought they knew.





	1. The Prettiest Girl I Ever Met

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first Falsettos fic, but I've been reading for awhile now. This fic is inspired by marquisdegayaf's fic "All Secrets Sleep in Winter's Clothes", which is amazing and which you should all read, because it gave me the idea that young Whizzer and Cordelia dated--an idea which I obviously LOVE. Please read and enjoy it!
> 
> (PS I wanna thank my BFF Ryker, for reading what I've already written of this fic. They're the bomb.com.)

It took six months of mourning for Marvin to finally be able to go through Whizzer’s things without breaking down and crying, tears filling his eyes and blurring his vision so badly that he had to sit and wait for them to pass before he could walk anywhere in his small apartment. Cordelia came to help him sort through the items, decide which things to keep, which to give to various members of their little family-- she had already made it clear she wanted the cookbook Whizzer’s grandmother made him ( _ “Your wife will need these one day, sweetheart.” _ ), and Jason had been promised any baseball cards that were found-- and which to send to Goodwill. 

The shoe box was stashed away in the way, way back of Whizzer’s half of the closet. The lid was marred up with Sharpie, his slanted, messy handwriting ordering everyone to keep out, and that, that meant “you too, Adam”, but Adam had been crossed out and replaced with a “‘Delia” and then a “Marvin”. Marvin wondered if having his name on the box meant Whizzer loved him especially, or if it meant Whizzer especially did not trust him; he decided to believe the former and push the latter out of his mind. Despite the emphatic orders on the lid, Marvin opened the box anyway, because what was Whizzer going to do? Stop him? It seemed unlikely. 

The box was filled to the brim with old Polaroids. They were meticulously stacked and organized, which didn’t surprise Marvin in the least. Whizzer was nothing if not organized. The photos seemed to be stacked in order of date, with the oldest on top. Gingerly, Marvin picked the first one off the top of its stack, holding it delicately by the edges as if he were afraid that, should he be too rough with it, it would crumble into dust and blow away.

“What have you got there?” Cordelia asked, righting herself and putting her hands on her hips after stacking a newly filled Goodwill box on top of another. She crossed to Marvin and peered at the photograph over his shoulder. 

It was captioned “The Prettiest Girl I Ever Met, Bard College- 1963”, and though it was blurry and taken from far away, there was no mistaking that it was of a much younger Cordelia, standing in a patch of too-green grass,  wearing a silly flower crown and clothes that made her cringe to look at now.

“Oh.” She said, though it more escaped from her lips than came out willingly. 

“Is this- is this  _ you _ ?” Marvin asked, incredulous. Cordelia bit her lip and nodded. 

“We went to school together.” She stated this as if it explained everything. Naturally, Marvin was left with more questions. 

“‘The prettiest girl he ever met’?” he pressed. 

Cordelia nodded again, and sensing that Marvin was going to want more than that, she sighed and said, “Let me put the kettle on.”

* * *

 

Spring on a college campus was every photographer’s dream. The campus was suddenly filled with more color than it knew what to do with, as if trying to make up for the dull gray and white of winter, and the student body was alive with a newfound vigor and spirit. Out in the commons, girls hula hooped and boys tossed footballs in their free time, while countless other students sped by on their way to class. Though he was armed with his Polaroid camera and enough replacement film to last him until Rosh Hashana, Whizzer Brown couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. After all, if  _ every  _ moment seemed to call for a photograph, how would he be able to tell which ones he should actually capture?

He passed behind the library, stopping to take a picture of a bird just as it pulled a startled worm from the earth. He felt bad for the worm, but it made a good picture. He shook the Polaroid to make it develop faster, but frowned when it didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to. It had been a better picture in his viewing lens than in film.  Whizzer was about to take that as a sign to stop for the day and head back to his dorm when he saw her. She had just placed a daisy chain crown on her head and spun playfully. Her yellow sundress, which was dotted with pink flowers, splayed out around her, and her golden curls formed a halo behind her head, which the sun caught beautifully. Without thinking, Whizzer held up his camera and snapped a picture. She froze when she heard the click of the camera.

“I thought I was alone.” She said breathlessly, taking a nervous half step backward. Though Whizzer didn’t think of himself as a particularly threatening guy, he could see how the situation made her anxious. She was behind a building, where almost no one ever went, alone with a man she didn’t know--who happened to be nearly twice her size. Hell, it would have made him just as nervous. 

“Oh god-” Whizzer groaned, suddenly feeling exactly as anxious as she did. “I’m sorry, I- I was just taking pictures--I followed a bird, and then I saw you, and you were just so beautiful.” She blushed and looked at her feet; he suddenly felt sick and he didn’t know why.

“My name’s Whizzer, by the way.” He said, shrugging awkwardly. “Whizzer Brown.”

“Whizzer-?” She started.

“Yes, it’s my real name.” Whizzer laughed anxiously. He responded too quickly for that to seem like the truth, but if she suspected she didn’t let on. 

“I’m Cordelia.” She said. She didn’t give him a last name, which he respected. College was a chance to make a new start, and if one had to leave their surname behind, that was what one had to do.  _ Whizzer _ certainly wasn’t going to judge anyone. 

“That’s a pretty name.” He offered, because it seemed like the thing to do. Cordelia certainly was beautiful, with ice blue eyes and slim nose--the exact kind of all-American beauty that should have set Whizzer’s heart a flutter. So why didn’t it?

“Thank you.” She said. She tucked her arms behind her back and rocked slightly on her heels, giving Whizzer her own inspection.

“Would you-” Whizzer started, then faltered. “Would you like to get dinner?” The question made him sick to his stomach, but he asked it anyway. It was the sort of question college boys were supposed to ask pretty college girls. 

“Or just coffee,” he went on anxiously when she didn’t respond. He was sweating; why was he sweating? “Or something?”

“Sure.” Cordelia nodded, a shy, reserved smile spreading across her face. “Coffee would be nice.”

* * *

 

By the time the end of the semester rolled around, Whizzer was taking Cordelia out almost every weekend. They had only kissed a handful of times, which was fine by him. He liked Cordelia, more than any girl he’d met before, but the idea of kissing her made his heart beat too fast and his stomach turn. If she minded, she didn’t let on. 

They were good together. Everyone thought so. He made her laugh--a big, hearty thing that shook her curls and echoed in a room-- and she inspired his photography--which was undoubtedly improving now that he had a definitive subject. They talked easily about anything and everything; they liked the same kinds of magazines, and they shared an appreciation for style. Cordelia wasn’t Jewish, and Whizzer thought that would have bothered his mother. She had regretted falling for a Catholic; she’d never said it, but he knew she did. But then, he thought any girl, Jewish or not, was better than the alternative, which he was trying oh-so-hard not to think about.

* * *

 

“Whizzer?” Cordelia began as the two laid on their backs behind the library, gazing up at the clouds through the trees.

“‘Delia?” Whizzer replied.

“I know it’s kind of late to be asking this, what with finals almost over, and you probably already have plans, but,” she was rambling. “Would you wanna spend the summer with me? My family has a cottage in Provincetown, and I work in my aunt’s ice cream parlor during the week, but I’m sure she’d give you a job, too, because it gets really busy in the late afternoons, and we’d have every night to ourselves to just, do whatever.”

Whizzer felt a strange mixture of sickness and relief well up in his stomach. Sickness because this must have meant she really, really liked him, and he wasn’t so sure he really, really liked her; sure, he’d rather have her than any other girl he’d ever met, but did that really mean anything when he was trying to avoid becoming a homo? Relief because he didn’t want to spend the summer without her (really-really-like or not, she had quickly become his best friend), and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to going back home; he couldn’t spend another summer sleeping on his father’s couch in their too-small apartment on the edge of Brooklyn. And scooping ice cream on Cape Cod seemed like a much better deal than any odd job he’d be able to get in his neighborhood. 

Whizzer must have been quiet for too long, because Cordelia sighed and said, “Forget it, it was a dumb idea anyway. You’re probably doing something much, much cooler.”

“No!” Whizzer cried, sitting up. “No, I’m not. I’d-I’d love to go with you.” Cordelia sat up as well, examining Whizzer’s face for some trace of insincerity. When she didn’t find one, she smiled and laid back down, contented with the turn her summer was going to take.


	2. Delia and her Car//Miss Divine Tension

“You and Whizzer  _ dated _ ?” Marvin, apparently, could not move on from this detail. 

“Sort of.” Cordelia shrugged; to her, this was just a simple fact of her past, no different than any other part of her upbringing and formative years. “We were young, and still so desperately trying to be straight. And it’s not as if there wasn’t  _ anything _ there, we were legitimately friends.”

Marvin shook his head. He couldn’t imagine Whizzer being disturbed by his sexuality, being in the closet and experimenting with pretty girls. The Whizzer Cordelia was talking about, the college-age Whizzer, sounded an awful lot like Marvin. The idea made Marvin uncomfortable, and he squirmed in his chair as he tried to grow accustomed to it. 

“What else is in there?” Cordelia asked, gesturing with her mug toward the shoebox full of photographs, having grown a bit anxious in the silence. Marvin returned his attention to the Polaroids and pulled out another. This one showed Cordelia, decked out in pedal pushers and a flowery blouse--both garishly colored in shades of orange, yellow, and lime-- with her blonde curls tied back in a ponytail, sitting on the hood of a 1961 Chrysler Imperial Crown Convertible (something Marvin only knew because it was written on the back of the photograph) painted a brilliant robin’s egg blue. Whizzer had captioned this one “Delia and her Car, Albany, NY-1963”. Marvin slid the Polaroid across the table for Cordelia to see, and she laughed and shook her head upon reading the caption.

“He’s such a liar.” She said. 

* * *

 

Whizzer whistled when Cordelia pulled the drop cloth off the top of the convertible.

“Is this really  _ your  _ car?” He asked, his fingers ghosting over the smooth paint job.

“Well, it’s actually my brother’s.” She explained. “But he lives in the city now and doesn’t need it, so it’s mine by default.”

“It’s beautiful.” Whizzer said. He wondered if he was more impressed with the car itself, or the fact that she owned it. He decided it was the car itself when he remembered that his Uncle Richard had a beat-up Oldsmobile that barely ran and which didn’t impress him at all. 

“You wanna drive it?” Cordelia asked, holding out the keys to him. “I don’t like driving long distances, and my dad’s gotta drive his car out.”

“Yes!” Whizzer cried, grabbing the keys with just a little too much enthusiasm, but Cordelia must’ve thought it was cute, because she giggled slightly.  

Within the hour, they had packed up the convertible and had pulled out onto I-90, heading towards Boston. They kept the top down, wind whipping through their hair. Whizzer had one hand hanging out the window. Cordelia was painting her nails a bright red color. For a moment, they were just existing, no expectations between them, and for that moment, Whizzer had never been happier.

* * *

 

“There are definitely more Provincetown pictures in there.” Cordelia said, rising from her seat and taking her now empty mug of tea to the kitchen sink. “He loved it there.”

Marvin pulled out a few pictures, each one labelled as having been from Whizzer’s summer of ‘63. Each  was a flurry of color. There were a few of Commercial Street and its bevy of businesses--including the ice cream shop where he and Cordelia had worked. A handful were of the beach, sunburnt tourists and brightly colored towels dotting the sand. 

There was one picture that caught Marvin’s eye. It showed a woman on stage wearing an outrageously sparkly pink evening gown and far too much make up, even for the theatre. Whizzer has scrawled “Miss Divine Tension, Provincetown, MA-1963” across the bottom in glitter glue. Marvin could imagine him picking it out because he liked way it matched the photograph.

“I remember that.” Cordelia said with smiled, looking at the Polaroid over Marvin’s shoulder. “That was a fun night.”

* * *

 

“I-I don’t know about this, Delia...” Whizzer murmured as he followed her into the main room of some little theatre (or maybe it was a bar? Whizzer couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t tell from the exterior either) she knew on the edge of town. 

“It’s gonna be fine!” Cordelia said, waving his concerns away. “I come to these things all the time; they’re great.”

“Won’t your parents be worried about you?” Whizzer asked, somewhat hopefully. “You know, since you’re out so late with your  _ boyfriend _ ?”

Cordelia shook her head. “No. They don’t really see you as a threat.”

“Oh.” He said, ducking his head and trying to hide the fact that he was blushing. 

“Ooh! Let’s sit near the front!” She said, grabbing him by the hand and leading him down to a table right in the front row. It was only meant for two people, something Whizzer knew Cordelia would take as a sign that it was meant to be.

“Do you want something to drink?” She asked, waving to a guy in a loose button down. “I know the bartender, he won’t card us.”

“Um-” Whizzer started, only for her to cut him off and tell him he’d have a beer, because he needed to live a little. He took a hesitant sip from the bottle when it arrived; it was yeasty and reminded him of the bread Cordelia made, which she always left to rise too long, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

The lights dimmed quickly, and a spotlight swung around to focus on a very, very blonde woman, whose beehive was nearly taller than she was. She wore blue glitter eyeshadow up to her eyebrows and bright pink lipstick that matched her equally bright pink evening gown.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and those of you that haven’t  _ quite  _ made up your minds.” The woman grinned, wrapping her hand around the microphone stand as she spoke. “My name is Miss Divine Tension, and my sister Destiny and I have a little show planned for you all tonight.” From beside her, a brunette in a purple dress gave a little wave.

Beside Whizzer, Cordelia was whooping and hollering along with the crowd. Because he didn’t want to stand out, Whizzer joined in. Destiny made eye contact with him and gave him a little wink; he squirmed in his chair.

Whizzer didn’t like the show quite as much as Cordelia seemed to--something she would later attribute to his “virgin jitters”-- but he did enjoy himself. Most of the songs were pop numbers he knew by heart; his personal favorite was an extra sparkly rendition of “My Boyfriend’s Back”. At some point, there was a break in the songs and the dancing, and the two drag queens began to banter with the crowd. While Whizzer was sure it was all very funny, it was completely unmemorable compared to what happened next.

Destiny crossed the stage and stepped down to stand in front of him.

“Hi.” Whizzer said dumbly, because couldn’t think of anything else. God, he wished he was more clever.

“Hi.” Destiny echoed, her lips curling up into a smile that, while sly, was not unkind. “What’s your name?” She lowered herself onto Whizzer’s lap. He smiled a nervous smile, but didn’t try to pull away. 

“Whizzer.” He replied, glancing at Cordelia. She was loving this.

“Well, ‘Whizzer’,” Destiny began. “I’m gonna make a man outta you.” In one swift motion, too quick for Whizzer to react, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

“Whizzer!” Cordelia shrieked, but she was laughing, so she clearly didn’t mind. 

The kiss was long and hard and wet and hot and completely unlike any kiss Whizzer had shared with Cordelia. He leaned into it, letting his arms wrap around the drag queen’s back and pulling her a little closer. When Destiny pulled away and stood up, Whizzer was flushed and practically pating, and-- _ oh, God _ . He covered his lap with his hands.

“Hmm.” Destiny said, surveying the now flustered Whizzer. “Not bad.” The audience laughed, and the show quickly moved on. Whizzer, however, remained fixated on the moment, left wondering if he might be too queer to hide it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun facts: I have literally never been to Provincetown or a drag show in my entire life. I hope it's not too obvious.  
> I have most of this written already (I might have mentioned that last chapter), and the last few chapters are mapped out, so I'm going to try to update every few days. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Me and My BEST Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Another chapter! I actually finished writing this today (a bonafide miracle), so it's just going to be a matter of posting each chapter. My plan is to do about one a day, but I might get excited and post more than one. We'll see.
> 
> Enjoy!

Marvin didn’t really react to any of Cordelia’s stories, at least not in any way that she could see. She didn’t like the silence; it made her worry. They weren’t really her stories to tell, after all, and maybe Whizzer had kept them hidden from Marvin for a reason. She didn’t want to tarnish the memories Marvin had by revealing what he hadn’t known, either.

“What about this one?” Marvin asked after a while, showing her a photograph of Whizzer and herself sitting in the back of the Chrysler at night. Her blouse was unbuttoned and hung open so that you could see her bra. Whizzer was shirtless, and though they both were grinning, the flash revealed the tear stains running down Whizzer’s cheeks. He had labelled this one “Me and My BEST Friend, Provincetown, MA-1963”.  On the back, Cordelia knew though she couldn’t see it, he had scrawled “The truth will set you free.”

* * *

 

Whizzer wasn’t really sure where they were at the moment. After dinner, Cordelia had hopped in the driver’s seat and taken him to wherever here was. He didn’t think enough to pay attention; he trusted her. She had parked the car in a secluded spot overlooking the water. They had moved to the backseat so Cordelia could lean against Whizzer, and he could put his arm around her shoulder and hold her close as they watched the gentle waves crash against the sand.

Whizzer liked sitting like that with Cordelia; it had its own special kind of intimacy--one that wasn’t necessarily romantic or sexual. He liked being close to her, smelling her strawberry shampoo and flowery soap, feeling her almost-too-soft skin beneath his fingertips, syncing his breathing with hers. He would have been content sitting like that for the rest of time.

Cordelia looked up at him through her long eyelashes. He pressed a delicate kiss to her pink lips, which she leaned into. They shifted positions so that her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands came to rest on her waist. She kept kissing him, pushing her tongue into his mouth and leaning her body into his. Her fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, and she deftly undid the top few, placing her hand on his chest with an odd sort of reluctance. Whizzer’s heart was racing, and he prayed silently that she wouldn’t be able to feel it. She undid the rest of the buttons on his top, and slid it off his shoulders. A few moments passed, and Whizzer did not reciprocate the gesture, so she took his hands in her own and guided them to her blouse. He unfastened the buttons on her shirt, feeling like he was going to be sick. 

He was just nervous, that was all, he kept telling himself. But, Christ, here she was practically throwing herself at him, and he wasn’t even hard. Still, he was going to make this work, because Cordelia wanted this, and he loved Cordelia, even if he wasn’t necessarily  _ in love _ with her. He let her top hang open, and stared at her breasts, still contained in her bra, hoping to feel something,  _ anything. _ Nothing. 

Cordelia suddenly pulled back, “Whizzer, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.” Whizzer stuttered.

“You’re crying.” Her voice was soft and kind, which only made Whizzer more upset. She slid off his lap and onto the seat beside. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I’m-” Whizzer pressed a hand to his face, finally aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks. “I just wanted to be able to do this for you. I should be able to do this. You’re my girlfriend, and I love you, and I should be able to make you happy, and I can’t and I’m sorry, Delia, I’m so, so sorry.” He let out a loud, hiccuping sob. 

“Oh, Whizzer...” Cordelia said, taking him in arms. “It’s okay. I promise.” She held him for the longest time, his head to her chest, her hands smoothing down his hair in a maternal way. His sobs melted away into sniffles, which in turn melted into almost nothing. He hooked his hands around her forearm, trying to be closer to her. 

“Cordelia?” He said after some time.

“Yeah?” She asked.

“Cordelia, I think I’m queer.” His voice was quiet, ashamed and embarrassed and altogether not his own. 

“Yeah?” She said, with a good natured chuckle. “That’s great, because so am I.”

Whizzer sat up to look her in the eyes, “Really?” She nodded, a tiny smile on her face. 

“Then why-?” He started.

“I wanted to know.” She said. “For sure. It’s-it’s hard. And y’know, I figured, if I had to do it all with any guy, you’d be the best one to do it with, because I do love you. Just...not like  _ that. _ ” Whizzer smiled, then reached into the little bag he had tossed in the backseat before they left, pulling out his Polaroid camera. He put his arm around Cordelia’s shoulder and pulled her in close to him as he turned the camera to face them. He told her to smile as he clicked the shutter; the flash was almost blinding.

“What was that for?” Cordelia asked, wrinkling her nose. Whizzer pulled a Sharpie from the bag, and scribbled a caption on the photograph.

“I always wanna remember this,” he said, turning the picture over and scrawling ‘The truth will set you free’ on the back. “Spending the night under the stars with my beautiful gi-  _ best _ friend.” Cordelia smiled, then leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. And for that brief moment, all was right in their world.

 

 


	4. The Crappiest Place on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, chapter 4, in which we meet Whizzer's brother and discover that I don't care about reasonable passages of time. I'll jump and skip as much as I want, and no one can stop me. Enjoy, and please comment (I live for comments), but mostly enjoy.

“We stayed quote-unquote together until we graduated.” Cordelia explained to Marvin over a take-out container of chicken lo mein. It had been his idea to order take out when her stories ran long, even though she had offered to cook for the both of them. 

“There wasn’t a huge lesbian scene at Bard for me, so I saw no real reason to come out right away,” she went on. “And Whizzer was worried about losing his scholarship.”

Marvin did a double take, “Wait, Whizzer had a scholarship? For what? Baseball?"

“ _ No. _ ” She said pointedly. “It was academic.”

“ _ Our _ Whizzer had an  _ academic _ scholarship?” He asked incredulously. 

“He's really very smart, Marvin.” Cordelia said impatiently. “He just pretended not to be when he was with you, because he knew you couldn’t stand not feeling like the smartest person in the room. But I promise you, anytime he was with you, you weren’t.” Marvin flushed, and something flashed behind his eyes that made her worry she’d taken it a step too far. 

“So what happened after graduation?” He asked, pointedly changing the subject and letting Cordelia’s anxiety pass.

“I moved to Manhattan and lived with my brother for a bit, and Whizzer went home to Brooklyn.” She said with a shrug. “We kind of fell out of touch for a while. He showed up at a bakery I worked at in ‘68. He was looking to take pictures of our window displays and just about died when he saw me. But he was different at that point; he was snarkier, looser, more clever--more like the Whizzer you knew, really. I mean, he was still mostly the same Whizzer, and we reconnected instantly, but I still don’t know what happened in those three in between years.” Marvin nodded like he understood the feeling, and she figured he’d experienced something similar with the two years he and Whizzer had spent broken up.

“He must have some pictures in there from that time.” Cordelia said. “See anything?” 

“There’s this.” Marvin said with a shrug, handing her a photograph of some seedy motel, which Whizzer had captioned “The Crappiest Place on Earth--1966”. He hadn’t given it a location, but Cordelia thought it had to be in the city, or just outside it. Whizzer was not a world class traveler. She ran her thumb across the smooth surface of the photo, wondering just what kind of trouble Whizzer had gotten himself into there.

* * *

 

Whizzer was hyper-aware of how crusty and rough the carpet was underneath his knees. He tried to focus on anything else, the feeling of fingers in his hair, the warmth of the other man in the room, the task at hand. The man tightened his fist around a section of Whizzer’s hair, and with a groan he came in Whizzer’s mouth. It was hot and thick and salty and Whizzer did not like it.  _ At all _ . He looked around for a trashcan or empty cup to get rid of it, but the man took Whizzer’s chin in his hand, turning his head to look at him.

“Women spit, Whizzer.” He said, giving Whizzer a half smile. Whizzer nodded, then swallowed it down with a gulp. He shuddered involuntarily, and he hoped the man didn’t notice. 

The man flopped back on the bed, his pants still pooled around his ankles. Whizzer rose from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed beside him, no longer eager to do anything. The man let his arm flop over his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Whizzer folded his hands in his lap. The man lifted his arm just enough to peer at the boy beside him.

“You can go now.” He said with a slight dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh.” Whizzer said. He stood and collected his jacket--the only piece of his clothing that had been removed-- from the floor.

“The money’s on the dresser.” The man said, giving another wave in the general direction he referred to.

Whizzer froze, dumbfounded. It was as if he’d been slapped, his hand brushed his cheek as if trying to soothe the sting. He didn’t want--he hadn’t just done that for  _ money _ . He’d done it--well, he wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it. To feel close to another person, maybe? Or was it just because he knew he could? But it certainly wasn’t for money.

“Okay.” He said, coming back to himself with a nod. “Uh, thank you.” His voice went up at the end. The man waved him away again, and Whizzer briefly considered taking the money, because it had been offered, but the idea put a sour taste in his mouth and he left, jacket in hand. Whizzer leaned against the closed door for a moment, then took a deep, shuddery breath before starting his long walk home. 

* * *

 

Whizzer loved his little brother, really he did, but at twelve, Adam just did not know when to  _ shut up _ . Sometimes this was endearing, but other times, like this morning, it made Whizzer want to pull his hair out.

“What time did you get home last night?” Adam asked, watching his brother intently as he poured two bowls of Apple Jacks. He poured milk into one, which he slid across the kitchen counter, but kept the other one dry. 

“None of your business.” Whizzer said, holding his bowl in one hand and digging his spoon into his cereal with the other. “Was Dad mad?”

Adam shrugged, spoon in his mouth. “A little.” Whizzer set his bowl down, his face set into a look that Adam recognized too well.

“He didn’t do anything.” He said quickly. “I promise.” Whizzer raised a skeptical eyebrow, but took his bowl up again. He didn’t share his brother’s fondness for their father; he was a bitter, old Irish Catholic drunk, who was never there when Whizzer woke up in the morning and never there when he went to sleep at night. He was quick to anger, getting loud and red in the face at the slightest provocation. 

“What happened to Cordelia?” Adam asked, bits of cereal flying everywhere; he never bothered with chewing with his mouth closed.

Whizzer sighed. “We just wanted different things.” That was mostly true, he reasoned. 

“I miss her.” Adam said.

Whizzer leaned against the counter. “Me too.”

* * *

 

By 1968, Whizzer had moved out and gotten a job with a photography company. Adam came to visit him most days after school, except for those days with baseball practice; Whizzer went to all his games, filled with an almost parental sort of pride. The two of them would play board games and tease each other; Adam would ask Whizzer for advice on girls, and Whizzer would awkwardly circumvent the subject. Whizzer would cook dinner, and Adam would politely eat it, no matter how burnt or bland it turned out to be. 

Weekends, Whizzer took for himself. Most of the time, he went to a bar with a certain reputation, where he sat in plain sight and let older men buy him drinks. At times, he’d get that same twisted feeling in his stomach and sour taste in mouth, but he’d brush it away. He was young, he was pretty, and he was allowed to have fun. He’d spent the past twenty-four years being responsible; he was allowed to let loose for a bit. 

* * *

 

“ _ Whizzer _ ?” A shrill but familiar voice called from the back room of the bakery Whizzer was currently requesting to photograph. 

“Cordelia?” He asked. She appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on her already floured apron. Her blonde hair was shorter and curlier, and she wore more makeup than she had three years ago, but she was most certainly the same Cordelia he knew and loved. She practically vaulted over the counter to hug him, sending them both tumbling backward onto the floor.

Whizzer sat up, rubbing the back of the head-- he could already feel a bump forming-- and laughing. Cordelia was still sitting on his lap, her arms around his neck, and he was very aware of the fact that everyone watching thought they must have been lovers. He grinned like an idiot anyway. 

“How are you? How have you been?” He asked. “Tell me everything.” Cordelia was about to launch into a detailed explanation of the past three years when the stern woman behind the counter cleared her throat. 

“I get off at four.” She said. “Can we catch up then?”

“Come for dinner.” Whizzer said with a nod. “Adam’ll be there; he misses you.”

Cordelia grinned. “I’d love to.”

* * *

“What are you being such a spaz for?” Adam asked, watching his brother flit anxiously one from one end of his little kitchen to the other, and back again. “It’s just Cordelia. You don’t have to impress her.”

“Yes, I do.” Whizzer retorted. “She’s working in a bakery; she’s doing almost exactly what she’s always wanted. What am I doing? Taking crappy family portraits and hating my life.”

“The pictures you take in your free time are nice.” Adam said, resting his chin in his hand. 

“They’re just Polaroids.” Whizzer said. “And how do you even know about them? You’re supposed to stay  _ out _ of that shoebox.” He pointed a wooden spoon at his little brother accusatorily, but just received a shrug in response. 

There was a loud knock at the door, and Whizzer let out a noise that wasn’t quite a scream and wasn’t quite a whine. He threw his arms in the air uselessly.

“I’ll get it.” Adam said, rolling his eyes. 

Adam opened the door and greeted Cordelia, who hugged him just a little too tight. She handed him a bottle of wine (which he hoped Whizzer would let him have at least half a glass of), and he pointed her in the direction of the sofa as he went back to the kitchen. 

“Cordelia’s here.” He said, stating the obvious. “She brought wine.” Whizzer turned away from the stove to face his brother, then immediately rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?” He asked, gesturing with the spoon. 

“She’s pretty!” Adam said, blushing. “And she hugged me!”

“You’re disgusting.” Whizzer sighed. “Put the wine on the counter, and then go to the bathroom and deal with...  _ that _ .” 

“Whizzer, your apartment is really nice!” Cordelia called from the den. He could already imagine she’d taken her shoes off and tucked her legs underneath herself, twisting around to shout in his direction. 

“Thank you!” He said. “Dinner’ll be ready soon, I promise.” He banged the spoon against the edge of the pot, then moved to stand in the entryway between the kitchen and the den. He leaned against the wall, holding onto his elbows, smiling at her.

“What have you been up to?” He asked. 

“Well,” she said. “I got that job at the bakery, obviously. And on the weekends I do small catering gigs--I’m trying to start my own catering business, it’s not going  _ super _ well yet, but it’ll take off soon I think. And there’s a girl at the bakery, Charlotte’s her name, she’s a resident at one of the hospitals around and we’ve flirted a few times. I really like her, but, I don’t know. I’m young, I’m trying to have fun.” Whizzer nodded in understanding; he was quite familiar with that sentiment.

“I came out to my parents.” Cordelia said, her voice a little more soft and a little less eager than before. “My mom was surprisingly okay with it, but my dad--they got divorced, ‘cause of me, I think.”

“Hey,” Whizzer said. “Better to be the cause of their divorce than the reason they stay together.” He laughed bitterly. Cordelia looked at her hands and shifted in her seat; Whizzer knew she never knew how to react when he talked about his parents. He hated making her uncomfortable.

“What about you?” She asked after a moment. “What’ve you been up to?”

“You know,” he said. “A little of this, a little of that. Taking photos, mostly. None of them good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” She said. “What about your love life? Met any--”

“Please don’t.” Whizzer said, pointing at the closed bathroom door. Adam didn’t know about what Whizzer did on the weekends; whatever Adam knew was sure to get back to their father, and Whizzer was certain he would  _ not _ be alright with his son being a queer. Cordelia nodded in understanding.

“I’ve missed you.” She said finally. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Whizzer replied, mostly because he did, but partly because he liked the symmetry of it.

“Please don’t leave me again.” She said. “I need you in my life, Whizzer.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Whizzer said. He didn’t feel sick to his stomach promising that, but he’d gotten used to making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.


	5. Not a Particularly Lovely Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skip a decade. Add Marvin. Shake vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the "mature" chapters. I've never actually written smut on my own before, so please bear with me on that front.  
> Please enjoy!

“Did he?” Marvin asked. “Stay in your life, I mean.” They’d opened a bottle of wine and each held a glass, sitting on the couch across from each other. He took a sip from his glass.

“For the most part, yeah.” Cordelia said with a shrug. “His landlord raised his rent in ‘70, or maybe it was ‘71, and he got evicted so he roomed with me for awhile. That was a good year. But then Charlotte moved in, and he felt like a third wheel, so he left. He never actually told me where he was staying, but I got the impression he slept around and spent the night with whatever guy. I just assumed he did that until he met you.”

“No.” Marvin shook his head. “He had an apartment when we got together, because we went there to screw.”

“Like I said, I don’t really know.” She said. “He didn’t want to tell me where he lived, and he didn’t want to live with Charlotte, so I couldn’t really help him. But Whizzer always lands on his feet. He told me that once, in college.”

“Landed.” Marvin corrects, because moving on was easier if he could only think of Whizzer in the past tense.

“Lands.” Cordelia insisted, because she firmly believed Whizzer was still kicking around, in some form or another. 

The two of them were quiet for a moment after that, some slight rift having formed between them in the difference of opinion. Marvin had set the shoebox on the coffee table, having acquired, in the course of Cordelia’s stories, a sense of guilt about looking through the thing in the first place.

“You wanna know something fucked?” Cordelia asked, her finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Adam  _ died _ , and Whizzer didn’t tell me. I was his best friend, and I should have been there for him, but he kept it inside for nearly ten years, instead.”

“I didn’t even know he had a brother.” Marvin offered, as if that would make her feel better. Then, “How did it happen?”

“A freak accident.” She said. “Like the kind you see on the news. Adam played baseball in college-- _ he  _ was the brother with the sports scholarship-- and the ball hit his chest during a game and his heart just stopped, I guess. Charlotte said the odds of it happening are incredibly small. Whizzer was there, I think; I like to imagine he jumped the fence and ran to him, held him close one more time.”

“It probably didn’t-”

“I know.” She thought for a moment, then laughed. “The worst part is, I’d sent Adam birthday cards for the past decade. Somewhere, in some post office, is a pile of unopened cards, filled with cash. I kind of want my money back.” Marvin laughed at that too.

“If Whizzer was here, he’d have some snappy comment about that.” He told her. “Something like--” He put his voice up a little higher, made it a little more nasally, trying to capture his lover’s voice. “‘That’s probably the most Jewish thing you’ve ever said’.” Cordelia giggled, then sighed nostalgically. 

“He never told me how you met, either.” She said. She sounded somewhat upset by this, as if she truly did expect Whizzer to have laid down all the details of his torrid affair with a married man. 

“It’s not a particularly...” Marvin trailed off, searching for the appropriate word. “ _ Lovely _ story.”

* * *

 

It was the end of 1978, and Whizzer was having the  _ worst _ New Year’s of his life. He’d been called into work at the last minute, to develop a replacement photograph for a family who could just not keep it together enough to hold on to the copy they’d previously purchased long enough to give it to grandma. On his way home, a bus took a particularly hard turn through a pile of muddy slush, and he was completely soaked in the sludge. It ruined everything he was wearing, including a particularly fashionable pair of pants, which he had planned on wearing to Cordelia’s party that evening.  _ Except _ Cordelia got the stomach flu, and Charlotte had to call the whole thing off.

So now, here he was, in some seedy gay bar, sitting around and waiting for a guy to buy him a drink and hoping to find  someone to kiss at midnight. He put his elbow on the bar top and leaned his head against his fist. The bartender slid him another beer, and Whizzer sighed, pulling a few bills from his pocket and handing them over. Whizzer took a swig from his new beer, and swiveled on his stool to survey the rest of the bar. It was the usual New Year’s scene; a few guys who were drunk off their asses, trying to get with guys  _ way _ out of their league, a few of the out-of-their-league guys drunk enough themselves to take them up on it, a drag queen or two had wandered in, probably celebrating a successful show. Whizzer picked at the label on his bottle, thinking about Miss Divine Tension and Destiny; he and Cordelia should see another drag show together, he thought. 

At the other end of the bar, a man sat, looking at Whizzer intently. He kept rubbing his palms on his thighs, and when Whizzer finally noticed him, he looked away quickly, a deep red flush settling on his cheeks. He had a sort of disheveled, neurotic professor look that Whizzer didn’t  _ love _ , but that he thought had some potential; his brown hair was a mess, but somehow endearing. Whizzer offered him a slight wave, which the guy returned, along with a small, toothy smile, before looking at the floor again. Whizzer rolled his eyes and rose from his seat; he didn’t normally like to make the first move (and he usually didn’t have to), but this guy obviously wasn’t going to do anything besides get flustered.

“Hey.” Whizzer said, flashing one of his signature half-grins. 

“Hello.” The guy nodded, his hands running down his thighs again. 

“I’m Whizzer.” 

“Marvin. Is Whizzer your real name?”

“It’s real enough for you.”

“That’s fair.”

“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this on New Year’s Eve?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m looking for someone to screw.” Whizzer leaned forward on the last word, his face getting so close to Marvin’s that their noses were practically touching. Marvin didn’t quite lean back, but there was evident discomfort on his face, and he clearly did not know how to react.

“Buy me a drink.” Whizzer said. 

“Don’t we-didn’t you-what’s happening?” Marvin stuttered as if he couldn’t decide what question to ask first.

“I’m helping you score with the hottest guy in this place.” Whizzer replied, flashing another smile. 

“Oh.” Marvin said, and then, realizing what Whizzer meant. “Oh!”

“You don’t do this often, do you?” Whizzer asked, with a slight laugh. Marvin shook his head furiously. “Alright, well, just follow my lead.”

* * *

 

“Is this really where you live?” Marvin asked, his nose wrinkling up. He sat on the end of Whizzer’s bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor. “It’s kind of small.” Anger sparked in Whizzer’s chest; Marvin was the one who had insisted they come back here, said they couldn’t screw at his place, and now he had the nerve to insult.

“Yeah, well, I don’t normally bring guys back here.” Whizzer snapped. “It’s plenty big enough for just me.” 

Silence.

Then, Marvin placed his hand on Whizzer’s thigh, and something in the motion made Whizzer think he was asking permission, so he nodded. Marvin’s palm was warm, and even through the fabric of his slacks, Whizzer could tell it was sweaty. 

“I’ve never done this before.” Marvin laughed an anxious laugh that came out too hard and too loud. “With a man, I mean.”

“Geez, Louise.” Whizzer said, placing his hand over Marvin’s. “Put a little pressure on a guy, why don’t you?”

“Sorry.” Marvin blushed and looked at the floor. Whizzer cupped Marvin’s cheek in his hand.

“Hey.” He said, turning Marvin’s face to look at him. “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.” He stroked his thumb across Marvin’s cheek, earning a small smile from the other man. They stayed like that for a few moments. It was charming, and romantic, and not at all what Whizzer was used to in situations like these. But he found he sort of liked it, just sitting with someone and being close to them. 

Marvin made the first real move, swooping forward and taking Whizzer’s face in his hands. He pressed messy, wet kisses to Whizzer’s lips, and Whizzer leaned back, his hands on Marvin’s shoulders. Marvin swung one leg over Whizzer so that he straddled him, trailing his kisses down Whizzer’s neck. His hands fumbled with the buttons on Whizzer’s shirt, and then with the buttons on his own. Shirts were tossed across the room, and Whizzer placed his hand on Marvin’s chest, gently pushing him onto his back. He unbuttoned Marvin’s pants, and pulled them down around his ankles--he figured Marvin could kick them off the rest of the way if they really bothered him. Whizzer wrapped his hand around Marvin, tugging, teasing ever so lightly. Marvin practically jumped, and Whizzer found his skittishness somehow sweet. He leaned down and took Marvin his mouth.

“Ho-oly  _ shit _ !” Marvin hissed, his hands grasping and pulling at the sheets helplessly. Whizzer looked up at him through his eyelashes; Marvin’s head was thrown back against the pillow, and he was panting and twisting. He had said it was his first time with a man, but now Whizzer wondered if it was his first time altogether. 

He pulled off with a satisfying  _ pop!  _ and set to work unbuckling his belt and pulling off his own pants. He climbed over Marvin, opened one of his bedside drawers, and found a bottle of lube. He handed it to Marvin, who nodded and took it from him. They switched positions again, so Whizzer laid on his back, and Marvin knelt over him. He poured some lube onto his fingers, more of it got on Whizzer’s stomach, then set to work. He slid  _ one, two, three _ fingers inside the man beneath him, until Whizzer was a moaning mess, practically begging for him. 

There was an awkward silence as Marvin positioned Whizzer’s thighs on his hips, lined himself up with Whizzer’s entrance. Whizzer let out a low groan as Marvin sank into him, his hands pressing hard into Whizzer’s hips. Whizzer placed his hands on Marvin’s shoulders, just to hold on to something, as Marvin thrust in and out. It was slow and cautious, almost exploratory, at first, and then, at Whizzer’s prompting, it became faster, rougher, and much more like the kind of sex Whizzer was accustomed to, but better, somehow. 

Marvin buried his face in Whizzer’s neck, sucking a dark mark into his collarbone; Whizzer couldn’t help but notice that Marvin was awfully quiet through it all. He wrapped his arms around Marvin’s neck, holding him closer as they moved together. 

Marvin whimpered against Whizzer’s neck, and moment later he came inside him. Whizzer came not long after, though much louder, with a shout of Marvin’s name and his fingers tangled in Marvin’s hair. 

“That was good.” Whizzer remarked breathlessly as Marvin pulled out and flopped over. “ _ Really  _ good.”

Marvin put an arm around Whizzer’s waist and pulled him close, so that his back was flush against Marvin’s front. He nuzzled into the crook of Whizzer’s neck and sighed contentedly. Whizzer was stunned by this; the kinds of men he normally slept with would have left by now, not settled in to stay the night. It was sticky and sweaty and too hot, all the things that Whizzer normally detested, and the air was filled with the sickly sweet smell of sex. He wondered why he didn’t try to move, didn’t try to get up or kick Marvin out. He was surprised to find he didn’t really mind the cuddling; he liked being close to someone. 

* * *

 

Marvin was still holding Whizzer the next morning. He’d never had a man stay through the night before. He held his hand over Marvin’s, syncing their breathing and staring up at the ceiling, and thought about what he was supposed to do next. He thought, oddly enough, about what Cordelia would do in this situation, because she always knew how to behave in social situations, but then laughed, because Cordelia would never have gone to bed with Marvin in the first place. He decided that he should make breakfast; he hoped he had something in the fridge besides old pizza. 

Gently, Whizzer lifted Marvin’s arm from his stomach and rolled out of its reach. He let it flop uselessly back on the bed. He stood and stretched, his arms reaching toward the ceiling, then rummaged in the discarded clothes for his underwear. When he found his pair, he slid it on. He stood for a moment, admiring the man asleep in his bed. Marvin was better looking here, sound asleep in the pale morning light, than he’d been at the bar the night before. Whizzer quietly took his Polaroid and snapped a picture; he didn’t have a caption for it yet, so he put it in a dresser drawer and vowed to deal with it later.

Whizzer made his way into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and wrinkled his nose as he inspected its contents. There were a few eggs and a little bit of milk and not much else; he knew there was some Bisquick in one of the cabinets (because there  _ always _ was). He could make pancakes. He dumped the eggs and the milk and the powder into a bowl and stirred them together. He poured the batter onto his frying pan, trying to make perfect circles, but the pan was old and bowed in places, so they turned into uneven splotches. It was fine, he decided. He searched through his cabinets for maple syrup and came up empty, but he remembered he had half a bag of frozen strawberries in the freezer, leftover from when he tried to convince himself he liked smoothies. They were the kind that came drenched in sugary goo, and maybe if he let them thaw, they’d work on the pancakes. He took the bag from the freezer and set it on the counter. He flipped the pancakes and swore when he saw that half of them were dark brown. Whizzer could hear Marvin slowly wake up in the bedroom, hear him rustling the sheets and eventually getting out of bed. He pulled a plate down from the cabinet and transferred the pancakes onto it. He used a spoon to place some strawberries on top and placed it on the counter just as Marvin sat down.

Both men stared down at the plate without saying a word. The burnt, misshapen pancakes stared back. The strawberries were still too frozen to do anything. There was a beat, and then Marvin started to laugh. It was a soft and quiet thing, more breath than sound, but it was the kind of laugh that was infectious, and soon Whizzer found himself giggling too. 

“I’m not much of a chef.” He said, half-apologizing.

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Marvin said; he was grinning. “But can I take you out for breakfast instead?” Whizzer bit his lip, thinking the proposition over for a moment before breaking out into a huge grin and nodding. 

“Just let me get dressed.”


	6. My Valentine (?)

Whatever guilt Marvin felt about looking through the shoebox was not mirrored in Cordelia. She picked it up and started rummaging through it again, looking for photographs she didn’t know the stories behind, but which Marvin might. She found one of Marvin, standing in a yellowed doorframe and holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a takeout bag in the other, with a box of chocolates tucked under his arm, like some kind of Valentine’s Day magazine insert. Whizzer had labelled this one, “My Valentine (?)--1979”. 

“What about this?” She asked, handing it to Marvin, who took it and smiled. He thought for a moment, frowned as if he remembered something unpleasant, and then sighed. 

Finally he said, “Things were complicated.”

* * *

 

Marvin came over at least once every weekend. He usually brought some kind of gift--flowers, candy, once a stuffed bear that made Whizzer scoff-- like they were teenagers exploring the world of complex romantic relationships for the first time. They always screwed; sometimes it was hard and fast and left Whizzer gasping for air, other times it was slow and gentle and made Whizzer feel almost loved, but it was always passionate. Marvin would cuddle him afterward, hold him close and bury his face in Whizzer’s neck and breathe deep. Most times, he left by midnight with some vague excuse about having to work the next day. Whizzer didn’t mind; he was used to guys sneaking off afterward. In fact, he had been the sneaker himself more times than he could count. 

Marvin insisted on doing something special for Valentine’s day--or rather, the day after Valentine’s day, because that’s when he said his work schedule would allow it. Whizzer thought it was silly, but sweet, like most things Marvin did, and was only mildly surprised when Marvin knocked on his door, carrying Italian take-out, flowers, and candy. Something about seeing his current fling like this inspired Whizzer, and he told Marvin to stay where he was as he grabbed his camera. He snapped a picture of Marvin standing in the doorway, smiling like an idiot, then told him to come in as he labelled it. 

“I didn’t peg you as a photographer.” Marvin remarked as he set the brown paper takeout bag on the little table Whizzer used as a dining area. 

“Marv, I’m almost insulted.” Whizzer said with a snort. “But I’ll let it slide because I know I’ve never talked about it.”

“What kind of photography do you do?”

“Weddings, birthdays, graduations, bar mitzvahs and confirmations, and a  _ lot _ of family portraits.” 

“So you’re professional then?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“What’s with the Polaroid?”

“Film’s expensive. Polaroids are less so. I’m not gonna waste good film on subjects who aren’t paying.” 

Marvin hummed an acknowledgement as he unpacked dinner, setting plastic quart containers of different pastas and sauces out on the table. Whizzer grabbed plates and silverware from the kitchen.

“It’s all kosher,” Marvin said, gesturing to the food as Whizzer set the table. “I hope that’s okay--the food rules are some of the only ones I still follow.”

“You’re Jewish, too?” Whizzer asked, offering a half smile. “God, Marv, do you have any flaws? Besides your fashion sense and the way you ‘wear’ your hair, I mean.” Marvin laughed, his hand resting on the back of his neck. Whizzer smiled and stepped close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Relax.” He advised. “This is working.” Then, simply because he was nosy and curious, he pulled Marvin’s collar away from his neck and peered at the label.

“Really?” He asked. “You get your shirts from  _ Walmart _ ? Marvin, this is why I’m the only man you’ve ever slept with.” Whizzer laughed at his own snark, and Marvin gave a half-hearted chuckle, refusing to meet Whizzer’s eyes.

* * *

 

Marvin stayed the night after their Valentine’s screw, and Whizzer awoke still wrapped up in his arms. His face rested on Whizzer’s shoulder; Marvin was such a nuzzler it almost drove Whizzer crazy--he did not see the appeal of it, of blocking one’s own airflow just to smell someone who, after sex, probably didn’t smell that great at all. 

He sighed, and debated the pros and cons of getting up.

Pro: He could go to the bathroom.

Con: The bed was warm, and the room was cold.

Pro: He could make breakfast. Both he and Marvin liked breakfast.

Con: He would have to get out of Marvin’s arms.

Pro: He could get himself cleaned up, so he wouldn’t have morning breath and messy hair when they went to ‘back to bed’ after breakfast.

Whizzer decided to get up.

He cautiously slid out of Marvin’s grasp, out of the bed, and onto the floor. He took a clean pair of boxer briefs from his underwear drawer and pulled them on. In a split second decision, he decided to put on Marvin’s shirt, because guys usually thought that was sexy, and for whatever reason, he still cared what Marvin thought of him (the jury was still out on whether or not he was developing--or  _ had _ developed--feelings for Marvin, as he was still shocked that the fling had lasted more than a week). He bent over Marvin’s pile of discarded clothes; Marvin’s pants sat at the top, and Whizzer picked them up to move them aside when something fell out of the pocket and clattered to the floor: a perfectly circular band of gold. 

Whizzer picked it up and held it gingerly in the palm of his hand. This couldn’t be what he thought it was, he told himself as he inspected it. The inside of the band was engraved with a name-- _ Trina _ \--and Whizzer’s stomach suddenly soured. He closed his fist around the ring. He felt like he was going to be sick. He stumbled out into the kitchen. He vomited in the sink, then washed it down the drain with water from the faucet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then got out the frying pan and the eggs, because it didn’t necessarily mean  _ anything _ , and he could at least feed the guy before he started grilling him. 

Whizzer put the ring down on the counter beside the sink. He put the pan on the stovetop and turned on the gas. He cracked  _ one, two, three _ eggs into it and let them sit for a moment. He sprinkled them with salt. He sprinkled them with pepper. He stirred them with a spatula. He placed two slices of bread in the toaster. He scraped at the eggs again. Back in the bedroom, Marvin yawned and sat up, his feet hitting the floor with a quiet thud. Whizzer got a plate from the cabinet. Marvin shuffled over to the counter peninsula, offering a sleepy, “Good morning.” Whizzer dumped the eggs onto the plate. The toaster popped. Whizzer put the toast on the plate. He took a fork from the drawer. He set the breakfast in front of Marvin.

“Thanks.” Marvin said, picking up the fork and digging in. Whizzer just watched him for a moment. Then, wordlessly, took the ring from its place beside the sink and set it down in front of Marvin. 

“Oh.” Marvin said, setting the fork down and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You’re married.” Whizzer said. It was a statement, not a question, despite the doubts he kept trying to give himself.

Marvin didn’t try to argue. He didn’t try to save himself. Whizzer appreciated that, but he didn’t show it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Whizzer demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “What do you take me for? Some kind of plaything you can fool around with while you try to work through this- this sexual  _ phase _ ? I’m not a toy, Marvin! And what about her? Don’t you think she’s worried sick about you? You didn’t come home last night, you didn’t phone to let her know you’d be late.”

“She’s at her mother’s.” Was all Marvin said. His eyes were downcast, and he looked rather like a child being scolded by his mother. Whizzer snorted.

“Perfect.” He said, folding his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t love her.” Marvin said. “At least, not anymore. I might’ve, once, but I don’t know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Whizzer asked. 

Marvin shrugged. “Only if it did.” He let his hands rest in his lap. “Look, I know you have no reason to put up with me and my complicated bullshit--I’m sure you have your pick of every handsome guy in the city--but I do like you, a lot, actually. And-and aren’t you the one who’s always telling me he ‘doesn’t do monogamy’?”

“I’m not  _ married _ , Marvin.” Whizzer replied, folding his arms over his chest. “And I’m open about it--I don’t sneak around behind people’s backs.”

“Whizzer,” Marvin said, then sighed. He picked up the fork and took another forkful of eggs. Watching that, Whizzer lost his mind.

“You’re just gonna eat like nothing happened?” He asked incredulously.

“Would you prefer I  _ not  _ eat the meal you made me?” Marvin countered, raising an eyebrow.

Whizzer threw his hands in the air. “No! Eat the goddamn eggs! Just... be less okay with all of this!” Whizzer watched as Marvin ate his breakfast like nothing had happened at all. Meanwhile, Whizzer’s mind was racing. Suddenly, everything about Marvin made perfect sense--the fact that he’d never been with a man before, the way that he always made sure to leave Whizzer’s at a reasonable hour, the fact that they had to celebrate Valentine’s Day the day  _ after _ . Whizzer wondered what Marvin had done for Trina; perhaps it was exactly what Marvin had done for him. 

“I would divorce her, Whizzer, I promise I would,” Marvin began after some time had passed in silence. “But there’s Jason--”

“Who the hell is ‘Jason’?” Whizzer asked.

Confusion flashed across Marvin’s face. “My son.”

“You have a  _ kid _ ?” Whizzer could hear how shrill his voice had become, but he didn’t care. The room felt like it was spinning--was it spinning? Whizzer couldn’t be sure. He placed his hands on the countertop to steady himself. 

“Yes, I do.” Marvin said, as if he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb on the man across from him. He placed his hand over Whizzer’s. “But you’ll never have to meet him; I’m working hard to keep you separate from that part of my life. We can make this work, Whizzer, because you’re special and I love you.” 

Whizzer froze. No man had ever told him that he loved him before, but Marvin just--but he couldn’t have--it had only been a month and half--he  _ couldn’t _ .  The room was definitely spinning now, and Whizzer felt like he couldn’t breathe. He saw black at the edges of his vision, and there were two Marvins sitting across from him.

“Whizzer?” The Marvins asked, their brows knitting together in concern. “Are you ok-” Whizzer didn’t hear anything else before everything went dark.

* * *

 

Whizzer woke up in his bed, tucked in tight underneath the covers. He was wearing one of Marvin’s god awful shirts, and Marvin himself was laying beside him, thumbing through a magazine. Whizzer stretched and pulled his arms out from under the blankets.

“Good morning.” He said with a yawn, rolling over to hold Marvin close to him. “Marv, you will not believe the crazy dream I had last night. I found a wedding ring in your pocket and you told me you had a wife and a kid, and then you said you  _ loved _ me.” He laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Whizzer.” Marvin said, his voice stern. “Denial is not going to help the situation at all.”

Whizzer sighed and let his arms flop down. “Look, I tried.”

“ _ Nothing _ has to change.” Marvin said. “Not for us. We can still do everything we did before, only now I don’t have to lie to you.”

“You’re still lying to  _ her _ .” Whizzer retorted. 

“We’ve been lying to each other since the day we got married.” Marvin countered. “And besides, we’ve broken the seal, continuing what we have isn’t going to make what we’ve already done any worse, and stopping it isn’t going to make what we’ve done any better. Anyway, won’t you miss this?” He touched Whizzer beneath the sheets. “Why should we deny ourselves for the sake of the ice queen masquerading as my wife?”

_Because I know she exists now._ Whizzer thought. _Because I can get_ this _from any other guy in the city. Because I don’t want to be the kind of guy who is okay with being a homewrecker. Because I can do_ better _than being some closet case’s mistress._ He wanted to say all of that. He wanted to tell Marvin off and kick Marvin out of his bed.  But Marvin was slowly stroking him, and he couldn’t think straight. He could barely think at all.

“C’mon, Whizzer,” Marvin said, his voice low. “What do you say?”

Whizzer wasn’t proud of it, but he groaned and let out a shaky, “O-okay.” And there was no turning back then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worry that I made Marvin really...sleazy? In this chapter, mostly because I was struggling to get Whizzer to agree to continue things after he had such an intense reaction to Marvin being married. I'm not sure I really think Marvin was so gross nor that Whizzer was so innocent, but that's the way this particular fic is playing out. 
> 
> Anyway, if you liked this please leave me some comments and kudos, because my day is always made when i see them!


	7. It All Blew Up in His Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Whizzer meets Trina, revisits his past, and calls Cordelia.

“You're disgusting.” Cordelia said when Marvin finished his story. Her voice was sharp, and Marvin drew back a little. “He didn’t want to be your illicit lover, and you  _ knew  _ that, and you manipulated him.” She was filled with protective anger for the only boy she had ever loved; the boy who, while snarky and sometimes manipulative himself, was ultimately a good person who tried to do the right thing, and was often vulnerable and easily swayed, despite his insistence on the contrary. 

Marvin buried his face in his hands. “I know. I  _ know _ . I was not a good person then. I know I wasn’t.” Cordelia snorted at the understatement. “But I’m trying to be better. And it’s not as if I didn’t get what I deserved; it all blew up in my face.”

* * *

 

Whizzer gradually became more comfortable with his and Marvin’s arrangement. Marvin’s gifts got better; Whizzer assumed it Marvin’s way of paying him to keep mum, and he admittedly didn’t mind. At times, he’d have a thought about the wife or the son, and he’d push it to the way back of his mind. It was easy, he thought, because they weren’t real people to him. He had never seen them or met them; he only knew they existed because of Marvin. 

Whizzer found himself doing little things to compete with Marvin’s wife. He knew it was silly; Marvin was queer, there was no real competition for his affections, and he wanted to be with Whizzer for entirely different reasons than he stayed with his wife. Still, Whizzer would cook dinner on the nights Marvin came over, real dinners like pot roast and potatoes and vegetables, the kinds of things that required planning and took hours. They were never very good, and Marvin never ate very much of what was on his plate, but he claimed to enjoy them nonetheless. 

They fell into a comfortable routine, and Whizzer was truly starting to believe that the whole thing might actually work. 

Saturday afternoons, Marvin spent with his family, and Whizzer usually spent with another man (just because he was Marvin’s semi-committed mistress didn’t mean he was going to give up on his lifestyle of casual sex--he  _ liked _ it). But the last Saturday in March was unseasonably warm and the park near Whizzer’s apartment was showing hints of spring, so he took his Polaroid for a walk instead of pursuing his usual Saturday activities.

The playground was, admittedly,  _ not  _ the best place for a single adult man to be taking photographs, but it was also the only place that had any life at all. Whizzer decided that if anyone questioned him, he’d make up some lie about meeting a nephew or niece here and being so “inspired” by the flurry of activity around him that he couldn’t help but snap a few pictures. 

“ _ Whizzer _ ?” 

The voice definitely belonged to a man, but Whizzer didn’t know any men who would have reason to be at a playground, except--

“Marvin?” Whizzer whipped around to face him. Marvin was wearing what he thought was casual: a zip-up hoodie and jeans--a far cry from Whizzer’s casual blazer ensemble. 

“What are you doing here?” Marvin hissed. “You can’t be here--Trina and Jason are here.”

“They’d have no reason to suspect you even know me, if you didn’t come over here and start talking to me.” Whizzer pointed out, placing a defiant hand on his hip. “And I have every right to be in this _public_ park.”

Marvin opened his mouth to retort when--

“Marv, who’s this?” She appeared at his side, and Whizzer immediately thought she was lovely. She had long dark hair that was half pulled up with two neat little black barrettes. Her make-up was light, and every swipe of color highlighted natural beauty; she was certainly more stylish than her husband, wearing a floral shirt dress that covered everything a modest housewife was supposed to cover. Whizzer felt nauseous-guilty just looking at her.

“Trina, this is my-” Marvin faltered. “ _ Friend _ , Whizzer Brown. Whizzer, this is my  _ wife _ , Trina.” 

“‘Whizzer’? What a unique name!” Trina chirped. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Whizzer nodded. “Likewise.”

“Whizzer’s the friend I’ve been going out with lately.” Marvin went on, even though no one had asked for more explanation.

“Oh, so you’re the one stealing my husband away from me.” Trina teased, giving Whizzer a playful jab in the shoulder. She was giggling, and Whizzer laughed along a little too loud. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

Whizzer’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I couldn’t--”

“I  _ insist _ .” Trina said. “Come over at five. I’m making matzoh ball soup; it’s Marvin’s favorite.” Whizzer knew he should say no, he knew that eating dinner with Marvin’s family was too risky and bound to end in disaster, but he hadn’t had good, homemade matzoh balls since his mother died, and as soon as Trina mentioned them, they were the only thing he wanted in the world. In fact, Trina reminded him so much of his mother; all he wanted to do was eat her dinner and curl up at her feet with his head in her lap as she told him how proud she was of him-- which was  _ ridiculous _ .

So, of course, he said yes. Marvin looked about ready to kill him. 

* * *

 

Marvin’s house was somehow both nothing and everything like Whizzer had imagined it would be. It was very clearly decorated by Trina, and Trina alone, because everything actually went together. Family photos dotted every wall and lined the mantle. Most of them were just of Jason, the son, but there were a few that featured all three of them; Whizzer wondered how much his knowing Marvin was queer colored the photographs he looked at. For a brief moment, looking at a shot of a much younger Marvin and Trina--whose belly was swollen and round-- beaming and holding hands, Whizzer imagined himself with Cordelia, both of them going through the perfectly heterosexual motions. He wondered how much like Marvin he would have turned out.

He knew he wouldn’t be cheating on Cordelia right now. Or, at least, he didn’t think he would be.

“Whizzer, do you know how to play chess?” Those were the first words Jason ever said to him. No “hello”, no “my name is Jason”, no “nice to meet you”, just “do you know how to play chess”.

“Oh, no,” Whizzer said, turning away from the photograph of Marvin and Trina. “I don’t. I’m sorry.” Jason sighed and shook his head, sulking off with a chessboard tucked underneath his arm.

“I see you met Jason.” Marvin remarked, coming in from the kitchen and claiming an armchair. Whizzer was struck by how  _ domestic  _ Marvin looked-- all he needed to look like the father in an old movie was a pipe and a paper.

“He seems great.” Whizzer said. He meant it, but it didn’t sound like it, and Marvin scowled.

“Don’t mock my kid, Whizzer.” 

“I wasn’t--” He stopped himself. He didn’t want to argue with Marvin, not here, not now, when it couldn’t end with sloppy kisses and a make up screw. 

Trina called them all to dinner, and they sat around a perfect table, eating perfect food and making perfect small talk. Whizzer was surprised by how much he  _ liked _ Trina; all of Marvin’s stories made her out to be cruel and cold and heartless, but now that he’d met her, all he could see in her was the exact opposite. His heart ached for her, because she deserved so much  _ better _ than Marvin, than a husband who called her names behind her back and cheated and lied and reveled in their misery instead of trying to make her happy. 

As the night went on, Whizzer became more and more certain that he and Cordelia could not have ever been Marvin and Trina. They wouldn’t have had the same unspoken tension, and he would have treated her much better than Marvin treated Trina: expecting her to do things for him, barely even thanking her for spending hours making his favorite food when she most certainly did not have to, teasing her in a way she clearly did not like in front of her son and a man she barely knew. Whizzer was disgusted with Marvin. 

Whizzer offered to help Trina with the dishes when all was said and done, but she politely declined and insisted he and Marvin relax in the den. Marvin poured them glasses of scotch, a bottle much fancier than the cheap box wine they drank at Whizzer’s. 

“I shouldn’t be here.” Whizzer said, biting his lip as Marvin handed him his glass. 

“Yeah,” Marvin agreed. “But I want you here.” Whizzer let out a laugh, because that had so obviously not been the case that morning. 

“I do.” Marvin insisted. “Sit down, relax.” He gestured toward the couch, which was covered in plastic, because  _ of course _ it was. Whizzer shook his head. He felt distant, all of a sudden, and he imagined he looked it too. 

“Babe,” Marvin said, his voice getting soft as he stepped close to Whizzer. “ _ Relax _ . It’s going well.” His free hand lazily came to a rest on Whizzer’s ass, and he gave it a playful squeeze. 

Whizzer jumped. “ _ Don’t. _ ” 

“C’mon, Whizz,” Marvin teased, doing it again. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He did it a third time and pressed a little kiss to Whizzer’s lips, and then there was a gasp from the doorway to the kitchen. Trina stood there, a strawberry pie she’d definitely spent all afternoon baking in pieces on the white rug.

Whizzer didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life. He practically threw himself across the room, as if it would somehow undo the past thirty seconds. He couldn’t tell if Trina was about to laugh or cry, and he didn’t think she knew either. Marvin just looked stunned. Whizzer wanted to vomit.

“Maybe I should g-” he started.

“No.” Marvin and Trina spoke in firm unison. Whizzer wondered if Jason had heard that no before. 

“I am going to put Jason to bed.” Trina said, her voice too calm and too steady. “And then we are going to talk about this.” 

* * *

 

That was almost exactly what they did. Marvin and Whizzer sat in the den, miles away from each other for what felt like hours, because apparently, on Saturdays, putting Jason to bed involved giving him a bath and reading him a million stories, even though he was nine, nearly ten, years old. 

“I shouldn’t have come.” Whizzer said.

“Yeah.” Marvin replied with a bitter laugh. Whizzer could tell Marvin blamed him for it all, and he wanted snap. He wasn’t the one who decided to cheat on his wife. He wasn’t the one who grabbed his lover’s ass in the den while his wife and kid were around. He hadn’t done anything other than what Marvin asked, what Marvin begged him to do. 

“Well.” Trina said, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “Jason is asleep.” She looked older, somehow, and more tired, as if she had aged ten years in the hour and a half it took to get Jason to sleep. Whizzer felt guilty again. 

“Trina...” Marvin began, but that was as far as any real conversation got, because Trina started yelling, and then Marvin started yelling, and Trina started crying and yelling, and all Whizzer could do was sit on the couch with his hands between his knees and his head down and feel like this was all his fault. Because it sort of was. He was so lonely on New Year’s and Marvin had been right  _ there _ , and he could have just ignored him and finished his beer and gone home, but no, Whizzer had to screw someone, because the night was wasted if he didn’t get drunk or get off. And then Whizzer realized he was crying, and with Trina and Marvin screaming at each other in the background, he felt like he was ten years old again, sitting in the living room and listening to his parents scream at each other, because neither had Trina’s sense to send him to bed first.

* * *

 

_ Whizzer was sitting on the threadbare living room couch and crying. His parents were arguing about his baby brother or sister, whose “fault” it was, and using words Whizzer didn’t understand, like “diaphragm” and “condom” and “sabotage”. _

_ “This is just like when he had  _ him _!” His father snapped, pointing an angry finger in Whizzer’s direction. _

_ His mother cried, throwing her hands in the air. “Any time my life is going remotely well, better than yours, I somehow, miraculously, end up pregnant!” _

_ “You think I  _ want _ to be stuck with you? With that dumb kid?” _

_ “He’s not dumb; don’t you dare say anything bad about Whizzer.” _

_ “That’s not his name. Stop calling him that.” _

_ “He likes it!” _

_ “You think he’s gonna get anywhere in life if everyone he knows calls him  _ Whizzer _?” _

_ “He’ll get a hell of a lot farther than you!” _

_ Whizzer shrunk back; his father was bright red in the face, and even Whizzer could tell his mother had taken it a step too far.  _

_ “You stupid, ungrateful  _ bitch _!” There was a hard, loud  _ slap!  _ and Whizzer could feel the sting from all the way across the room. “You would have  _ nothing  _ without me. Don’t you ever forget it.” _

* * *

 

Marvin’s hand was in the air, and Whizzer came back to himself with a start. He pushed himself off the couch and practically flew between the couple, doing his best to shield Trina completely. Let Marvin hit him instead, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. That seemed to bring Marvin back down to earth. He looked from his hand, to Whizzer, to Trina, and back before letting his arm drop and his head hang in shame.

“Look, Trina, let me-” He took a deep breath. “Let me just drive Whizzer home, I’m sure the trains have stopped running and I won’t let him walk alone at this time of night, and when I come back, we’ll deal with it.”

Trina was still crying, her body shaking with little, breathy sobs, but she nodded. She moved to get Whizzer his coat, but he stopped her and insisted he could do it himself. She suddenly hugged him tight around his middle and sobbed into his chest, and he felt as if his heart were on fire.

“I’m so sorry, Trina.” He whispered, low enough that Marvin couldn’t hear. “Truly, I am. You deserve so much  _ better _ .” He wanted to hold her forever, warn her and save her. He wanted to tell her about his mother, how she died young and unhappy and spite-filled because she stayed with his father out of some asinine obligation to the children that neither of them wanted. He wanted to warn her that Jason could end up just like him if she kept letting Marvin walk all over her. He wanted to tell her to leave, to find someone better and never look back. And he wanted to promise her that he’d keep Marvin occupied, he’d make it so Marvin would never want to bother her again. Because Trina deserved so much better than Marvin, but he certainly didn’t.

* * *

 

Marvin and Whizzer screwed when they got back to Whizzer’s place--or rather, they  _ fucked _ , because it was devoid of real affection and intimacy and was much more like the kind of sex Whizzer had had when he was bouncing around and staying with whoever would let him stay the night. Whizzer didn’t even want to do it, but Marvin clearly needed it, so he laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling and let Marvin pound away. It was rough and hard and hurt a little bit, and Whizzer could not wait for it to be  _ over.  _

Marvin finished inside him with a grunt. He didn’t try to cuddle like he normally would. He didn’t even offer Whizzer a kiss. He just pulled on his clothes and left. Whizzer covered his eyes with his palms and tried to take deep breaths. His mind was racing a mile a minute, and he felt sick to his stomach, and he really just wanted  _ everything _ to be over. 

He rolled out of bed, smacking his hand on the nightstand, and limped over to the where the telephone hung on the wall. He dialed the familiar number, not worrying about the time, because she would pick up. She always picked up.

“Hello?” She answered on the third ring. Her voice was groggy, and he felt a pang of guilt for waking her up.

“‘Delia? Hi!” He tried to keep his voice chipper despite the lump in his throat. “It’s Whizzer. Did I wake you up? I’m sorry!” He twisted the coiled cord around his finger and bit his lip.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Are you-” she yawned. “Is everything okay?” At that question, everything he’d pent up inside spilled over, and he cried. He cried for himself. He cried for Trina. He cried for Jason.

“No.” He hiccuped into the phone. “No. Delia, I-I really fucked things up this time.”

* * *

 

Marvin stayed away from Whizzer for a week. When he came back around, he brought Whizzer a black leather jacket, the lease for a new apartment in a nice neighborhood (Whizzer recognized it, because it was the same neighborhood where Cordelia and Charlotte lived), and his signed divorce papers. Seeing the papers made Whizzer nauseous again. Now, he was  _ officially _ a homewrecker.

“You and I are gonna be so goddamn happy now, Whizzer.” Marvin said, and Whizzer thought it sounded vaguely like a threat. “Just you wait.”


	8. The Chess Game

“I told him to leave you.” Cordelia said. She was laying on the floor with her legs up on Marvin’s couch, her wine glass balanced on her stomach. She’d had at least half a bottle--probably more, since Marvin poured like a frat boy-- and she had gotten bold. She could no longer be bothered with sparing Marvin’s feelings, with censoring herself, and she couldn’t stop the bitter truth from falling from her lips.

“I told him you didn’t even deserve the time of day.” She went on. “He didn’t listen though. He never listens.”

“Listened.” Marvin corrected out of habit.

“God, would it kill you to just let something  _ go _ ?” Cordelia demanded, sitting up. 

“It might.” Marvin said. She relaxed, and semi-comfortable silence fell between them for a moment. 

“I tried so hard to make things work between us the first time.” Marvin sighed. “I wanted my divorce to mean something, and--I think I scared him off.” 

“No.” Cordelia said wistfully. “No, I think you scared him off by losing your shit over a chess game.”

* * *

 

Whizzer and Marvin’s relationship became more volatile after Marvin’s divorce. What had once been insignificant lovers’ quarrels turned into screaming matches, which could be set off by the slightest of comments. Marvin expected Whizzer to do for him what Trina had, to sit around the house all day and wait for him, to have dinner ready when he got home, and to always be in the mood--Whizzer resented all of it. He wasn’t a housewife, and if that was what Marvin wanted, he never should have started this whole ill-advised intrigue in the first place. 

Over the six months that passed after Marvin’s divorce was finalized, Whizzer and Marvin settled into a ridiculous routine of fight and screw, screw and fight. Sometimes Whizzer’d find a guy at a bar and spend the night with him just to get away from it for a bit. Sometimes he did just because he could get away with it. Whizzer wondered why he stayed with Marvin; maybe it was the gifts, maybe it was the sex, or maybe it was some need to prove to himself that he’d wrecked Marvin’s family life for a reason, and not just because he was Whizzer Brown and he  _ could _ .

The whole disastrous affair blew up in his face after a game of chess, because he couldn’t help himself, he  _ had _ to push Marvin’s buttons. He had to mock him and make fantastical claims about having won a game of chess (even though they’d both only moved a single pawn). Marvin had stormed out of the room, fuming and muttering curses. Whizzer had been surprised by that; he expected another night of yelling, of low blows and whore jokes, where Marvin pretended he was better than Whizzer because Whizzer was comfortable being queer. Whizzer was more surprised when Marvin came back in, throwing his suitcase on the floor in front of him.

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Marvin.” Whizzer said, his voice deadpan. He rose from his chair and moved to touch Marvin in some way, to calm him down.

“Get out.” Marvin said, shaking off Whizzer’s attempt at contact.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Whizzer demanded, kicking at the suitcase in frustration.

“Get out of my house.” Marvin snapped. Whizzer couldn’t help but notice the emphasis his lover placed on “my”. 

“Fine.” He huffed, picking up his suitcase and taking it into their bedroom. He shoved belongings into it, nearly at random--most of his shirts, most of his pants, that damn leather jacket. He remembered his camera bag and the shoebox and Polaroid at the last moment and packed those too. Marvin watched him the whole time, as if he thought Whizzer would try to steal one of his hideous Walmart button downs or something; the idea made Whizzer even angrier. 

With his suitcase fully packed and his camera bag slung over his shoulder, Whizzer shoved past Marvin and out the door. He heard it slam behind him as he marched out onto the street.

* * *

 

Whizzer didn’t know where he was going to go for the night. Cordelia and Charlotte were spending the weekend in Cincinnati, visiting Charlotte’s brother and his wife, so he couldn’t stay at their place. And Hell would have to freeze over before Whizzer would stay with his father. He didn’t have the money to get a motel room, and he felt like he was too old for a hostel. Which, he supposed, was how he wound up standing at Mendel and Trina’s door, waiting for someone to answer.

“ _ Whizzer _ ?” Trina’s voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet night air like a knife. “What are you  _ doing _ here?” Her hair was wrapped up in curlers, her face covered in a green mask, and a pink robe was tightly fastened around her waist. 

“Trina, hi!” Whizzer said, forcing a grin onto his face even though he just wanted to curl up and cry. “Sorry, I know it’s late, but--” What was he going to say? That he needed a place to say because her ex-husband kicked him out? That wasn’t going to get him any pity. 

But someone up there must’ve been looking out for him, because at that exact moment, a sleepy ten year old trotted down the stairs to stand behind his mother-- a ten year old who, it was well-known,  _ idolized  _ Whizzer. 

Whizzer angled himself so that Jason could see him behind Trina. Trina narrowed her eyes. Whizzer was playing dirty, and they both knew it, even if Trina didn’t know what they were playing for.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Jason yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Who’s at--Whizzer! Hey! What are you doing here?” The kid was suddenly full of energy, a huge smile plastered across his face. 

“Jason! Hey, buddy!” Whizzer said, already formulating a little white lie that would work to his advantage. “I was just trying to talk your mom into letting us have a sleepover tonight, but I don’t think she’s going for it.”

“Aww, c’mon, Mom!” Jason whined. “Let Whizzer stay! Please?”

“It’s only for one night,” Whizzer told Trina under his breath. “Then I’m sure Marvin will come to his senses.”

Trina sighed. “All right. I’ll make up the pull-out in the den. Come in, Whizzer.”

* * *

 

Whizzer didn’t sleep well on the plastic pull-out couch. He tossed and turned all night, missing Marvin’s arms around his waist, missing Marvin’s legs tangled with his, missing Marvin waking him up with a saccharine string of kisses. Whizzer got up at four thirty, simply because he was sick of trying to sleep. He got dressed in the downstairs bathroom, then did his hair. And then, because he felt guilty for manipulating his way into Trina and Mendel’s home, he decided he would make everyone breakfast.  He found eggs and half a loaf of bread that was on the verge of going stale, so he made french toast. Sure, it was a little soggy, and sure, Trina probably needed that bread to make Jason’s lunch (something Whizzer only realized after he had soaked every slice in egg mixture), but it was  _ something.  _

Trina came downstairs at six thirty, just as Whizzer was finishing up. She was already dressed, in flared pants and a sweater he knew she knit herself, with her makeup and hair already done. He offered her a plate, and she stood, dumbfounded, with her mouth agape as it sat in her hands. 

Whizzer got the distinct impression that she was not used to having things done for her. 

“Thank you.” She said finally, words and thoughts replacing utter shock. 

“It’s my pleasure.” Whizzer replied. Then, “Thank you. For letting me stay here, I mean. You had no reason to, and I did a shitty thing to get you to do it.” He laughed through his nose. “I’ve done a lot of shitty things to you.”

Trina shrugged in response and took a bite of french toast. She frowned as she chewed.

“Is it that bad?” Whizzer asked.

“It’s not...the best.” Trina said tactfully. “Let me help you with the rest, before Mendel and Jason wake up.”

* * *

 

“We have to find a photographer soon.” Mendel remarked offhandedly as he and Jason ate breakfast. “Who did you and Marvin use? Was he any good?”

Trina sighed, twisting a lock of dark brown hair around her finger. “No, not really.”

“I-” Whizzer started, then faltered. He set the pan he was washing down in the sink and turned to face the happy family. “I could do it.” 

Trina looked stunned again. “I don’t know...”

“I won’t even charge.” Whizzer said quickly. “Consider it my gift.” In his head, he added  _ or my apology _ . Since he’d ruined Trina’s first marriage, it was the least he could do was help her capture the memories of her second one. 

“I mean...” Trina sighed again. She looked at Mendel, who nodded his approval, and then at Jason, who had the biggest puppy eyes in the world. 

“All right.” She said. “Thank you, Whizzer.” Whizzer knew she was thinking that she didn’t want her ex-husband’s gay lover photographing her wedding, that it wasn’t the kind of thing that every woman dreamed about, but the guilt in his chest lessened at her acceptance of his offer. 

* * *

 

Whizzer was still at Mendel and Trina’s when Marvin arrived. Naively, he thought Marvin was there for him, was there to ask him to come home, there to tell Whizzer he’d made a terrible mistake and apologize for the whole silly incident. But Marvin barrelled into the house like a bull in a china shop, completely unaware that Whizzer was even there, shouting about Trina’s wedding invitation. Whizzer mentally kicked himself for not hiding it better when it came in the mail the day before; he’d meant to pull it out when Marvin was in a good mood, to avoid this whole awful situation, but clearly that had not worked out.

The way Marvin was screaming made Whizzer think his lover had gone out of his mind; the Marvin he knew was not so uncouth, not  _ so _ unkind. Marvin made some remark about about Trina denying that they’d ever been married--something Whizzer thought was impossible, because they had a  _ child _ \--and Trina spat back that the two of them had only ever had fights, only ever had mind games, only ever had flung names back and forth--things that all sounded  _ extremely _ familiar to Whizzer.

“Whizzer?” Jason was standing with Whizzer in the corner of the den now. “How can you love my dad?”

Whizzer was quiet for a moment, watching Marvin scream at Trina, at a woman who had given up everything for his happiness, who had done nothing but care for him for the past decade, and all he could see were his father and his mother, and then he came to a realization: “I don’t.”

Whizzer didn’t know what Trina had said, but Marvin was laughing, and calling himself dumb. And then there was a sickening  _ slap!  _ and Jason hugged Whizzer tight around his middle, his face buried in Whizzer’s stomach, whimpering like a kicked puppy; Whizzer squeezed him back. Mendel stood between Marvin and Trina, an uncharacteristic fire burning in his eyes. For a brief second, Whizzer thought they were going to fight, but then Marvin seemed to realize what he’d done--and then he was crying, and Trina was crying, and Jason was crying, so Whizzer just hugged him tighter. 

“I hate him.” Jason sobbed into Whizzer’s shirt. “I  _ hate _ him!”

* * *

 

“You don’t have to leave.” Trina said, sitting on the couch and holding a bag of frozen peas to her cheek, watching Whizzer repack the few items he’d unpacked the night before. 

“I told you I’d only be here one night.” Whizzer said. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Where will you go?” She asked, genuine worry displayed on her face. That enraged him.

“Why are so  _ nice  _ to me?” He demanded. “I have done nothing for you but ruin your life; I don’t deserve your kindness, Trina, so why do you keep giving it to me?”

“I don’t know.” She said. “I guess I compulsively take care of others when I can’t take care of myself. You seem like someone who needs taking care of.”

Whizzer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I always land on my feet.”

“ _ Whizzer. _ ” 

He slung his camera bag over his shoulder and picked up his suitcase. “I’ll see you on May 27th at 8, Trina. Have a nice night.”

* * *

 

“I don’t know what that guy next to me had,” Cordelia said, shoving her key into the lock, turning it, and opening the apartment door with her shoulder. “But I’m sure I have it now. Will you take care of me?”  
Charlotte laughed good-naturedly. “Of course.” She leaned in to give her girlfriend a kiss but--

“Whizzer? What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Whizzer was sitting on their couch, and he half raised his hand in a weak greeting. There were tears welled up in his eyes and his cheeks were ruddy. 

“Can I stay with you guys for a while?” He asked, sniffling. “I won’t be a bother, you won’t even know I’m here. I just need some time to save up and get my own place again.”

“Oh, Whizz.” Cordelia sighed, leaving Charlotte’s side to sit with him. She took his hands in her own. “Of course you can stay here. What happened with Marvin?” At the mention of his name, Whizzer broke down again, throwing himself into Cordelia’s arms. He was struck by how much like  _ home _ she felt; he could spend the rest of his life wrapped up in her arms, just being close to her. 


	9. The Smartest Kid I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A real, proper date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting multiple chapters today, mostly because we're getting near the end and I'm excited about it. Enjoy!

“How long’d he stay with you?” Marvin asked. He was now hanging upside down on the couch too, both he Cordelia staring up at the ceiling. 

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Month and a half, maybe two? He got his own place pretty quick and moved out. He’s never liked feeling like a burden; God knows, he wasn’t. He could have lived with us for the rest of his life, if he wanted.” Marvin nodded like he understood. Cordelia noted the way he didn’t correct her use of the present tense. He was learning.

Cordelia reached back into the shoebox, fumbling about until she could grasp one of the photographs. She pulled it out, examined it for a moment, then handed it to Marvin, saying, “This one’s got Jason in it.”

“‘The Smartest Kid I Know, Brooklyn-1981’.” Marvin read. He wrinkled his nose. “This place doesn’t look like anywhere I ever took him.”

“Jason’s a smart kid,” Cordelia said. “I’m sure he could have figured out how to get to Brooklyn on his own. It looks like he’s in Whizzer’s photo studio--that was listed in the white pages.”

Marvin made a quiet noise in response, studying the Polaroid in his hands. Jason wasn’t smiling, in fact, he looked more surprised than anything. He ran his thumb across the caption. He’d always known Whizzer  _ liked _ Jason--and he certainly knew how much Jason cared for Whizzer-- but he hadn’t known the extent to which that liking went. Was it love? Whizzer had said it once, but Marvin couldn’t be sure; it was never something they’d talked about. Had Whizzer really thought Jason was the smartest kid he knew? Or was he just humoring him? Or--the idea put a sour taste in Marvin’s mouth--was Whizzer mocking him? No. Marvin didn’t think that was the case.

* * *

 

The last person Whizzer expected to walk into his photo studio on a sunny Friday afternoon in mid-April was Marvin’s son Jason, and yet, that was exactly who stood before him now. He snapped a picture of the kid--earning a pointed “ _ Hey _ !” that reminded Whizzer so much of Marvin--just to make sure he wasn’t some sort of developing chemical induced hallucination. 

He was not.

“What are you doing here?” Whizzer asked, setting his Polaroid and the photograph down on the counter. “And does your mother know where you are?” He made a point not to say father, because he was trying not to think about Marvin anymore--a task made significantly harder by the presence of Marvin’s son. 

“I wanted to see you.” Jason said matter-of-factly, as if the two of them had actually seen each other since Mendel and Trina’s wedding, as if Whizzer hadn’t essentially fallen off the face of the earth for Jason and his family. “And my mother knows that I am on my way to my father’s. She doesn’t usually ask about any stops I make during the trip.”

“Ahh.” Whizzer said. “Commuting to your dad’s place; you’re a real world-class traveller, kiddo.”

Jason smiled. “I know.” 

Whizzer offered Jason the seat behind the counter, a rickety wooden stool that Whizzer probably should have thrown out a long time ago. Jason took it and set his bag down on the counter. Something inside it banged hard against the formica surface.

“My computer.” Jason explained. “I miss you, Whizzer.”

“I miss you too.” Whizzer said, ruffling Jason’s hair affectionately--an action that he knew only he could get away with. “How is everybody? Your mom and Mendel doin’ all right?”

“Yeah.” Jason nodded thoughtfully. “She’s real stressed about my bar mitzvah though. Mendel is doing his best to keep her calm, but when she and my dad start to argue, nothing can stop them.” He paused, then: “I think my dad misses you.”

Whizzer did not say that he missed Marvin too. He did not make some remark about how lonely his life had been for the past two years. He did, however, remain stone faced.

“He hasn’t had a real boyfriend since you left.” Jason went on. That surprised Whizzer. A guy like Marvin--better looking than average, fairly well-off, and ultimately kind-- didn’t usually stay on the market for long. At the very least, he was surprised that Marvin hadn’t shacked up with some other young pretty boy yet.

“Whizzer, will you come to my baseball game tomorrow afternoon?” Jason asked, seemingly out of the blue. 

“Oh, Jason, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Whizzer said, unwilling to admit that it was because he was terrified at the prospect of seeing Marvin again. Jason’s face fell, and Whizzer felt as though he’d been stabbed through the heart. 

“Is it because of my dad?” Jason said. Damn, Whizzer’d forgotten how smart this kid was. He should have known better than to think he could hide his feelings from him.

“You know, it is a little bit.” Whizzer said. 

“You don’t have to talk to him!” Jason said quickly. Whizzer could tell the poor kid’s mind was racing a mile a minute trying to come up with a way to convince him to go. “You don’t even have to sit with him; you can sit with my mom and Mendel because they always sit a bleacher down from him. He doesn’t even like baseball. He’ll probably be engrossed in some dumb book he brings instead.” 

Whizzer wanted to say no. He wanted to put his foot down for once in his life and finally, finally cut all ties with Marvin and his family. But something about the pleading look on Jason’s face forced him to ask: “What time?”

* * *

 

If asked, Whizzer would not admit to spending almost an hour crafting the perfect “look how much better I’m doing without you” outfit for the game. An outfit which, for the record, consisted of his favorite jeans, a collared shirt, and a black leather jacket that he knew Marvin gave him--a fact he would deny if it was brought up.

Whizzer didn’t arrive until the final inning of Jason’s game; the train was late, and then very slow. He ended up having to get off a stop early because of construction, and he had to walk the rest of the way. Luckily, it wasn’t too warm out, otherwise he would have arrived a disgusting sweaty mess, and he could  _ not  _ have anyone see him like that. 

He could see Trina and Mendel and Marvin sitting on the bleachers; Jason had been right, Marvin sat a bleacher up from Trina. However, Jason had failed to mention Charlotte and Cordelia would be beside Marvin, cheering louder than anyone else. As soon as he saw them, Whizzer knew there was no chance of getting through this without talking to Jason’s family; Cordelia would see him, and then everyone would know he was there.

Sure enough, she started waving at him frantically, like she was all arms.

“Whizzer! Over here!”

“What is he doing here?” Marvin asked, earning a shrug from his lesbian neighbor. 

“What are you doing here?” Trina asked, staring at Whizzer as if she’d seen a ghost. Whizzer took his sunglasses off and shifted his weight onto one leg.

“Jason asked me to come,” he said. “So I came.”

“Perfect.” Trina said, rolling her eyes. “Just what I wanted at a little league game: my ex-husband’s ex-lover.” Whizzer was oddly glad to see she had some snark in her. She slid over to let him sit, only for Marvin to pitch a fit about wanting Whizzer to sit in front of him, which Whizzer did--only to keep Marvin quiet. 

It was a mistake.

The whole game, Marvin ran his fingers through Whizzer’s hair--no matter how many times Whizzer hissed his name in warning--and whispered sweet nothings in Whizzer’s ear. He teased a Whizzer about a bald spot he most certainly did  _ not _ have, and all together just tried to get under Whizzer’s skin. 

“Would it be possible to see you, or to kiss you, or to give you a call?” Marvin asked.

And despite his better judgement, Whizzer turned around and gave Marvin his usual half-smile. “Anything’s possible, Marv.” He turned back to the game. “I mean, look, Jason just hit the ball.” And then, his own words registering in his brain, he leapt to his feet, crying, “Jason just hit the ball!”

* * *

 

By the time Whizzer made it back to his flat, his phone was already ringing--a shrill, grating noise that nearly scared Whizzer half to death, because it almost never rang.

“Hello?” He said, grabbing the phone off the wall. 

“Whizzer! It’s Marvin.” 

“That was quick.”

“Yeah, well,” Whizzer imagined Marvin hanging onto his own landline, running a hand through his messy brown curls. “I just couldn’t wait.”

“Oh yeah?” Whizzer asked, biting his lip.

“Yeah.” Marvin paused. “Look, Whizzer, I totally get it if you don’t ever want to see me again, but I was wondering, and you can totally say no, but I was wondering, if you’re free tonight--”

“Marv, just spit it out.” 

“Do you want to get dinner? Like a real, proper date.”

Whizzer ran a hand through his hair, smirking even though Marvin couldn’t see him. “I dunno. Depends who’s asking.” Marvin laughed on the other end--a far cry from the aggravated sigh Whizzer would have gotten in response two years ago.

“Me. I’m asking, you goof.” 

“Oh, well in that case...” Whizzer trailed off, pretending to think. “I think that could work.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Marv, your poetry makes me swoon.”

Marvin laughed again. “I’ll see you tonight, Whizzer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wear something nice, okay? I can’t be seen with someone in wash and wear anymore.” Whizzer paused. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

 

“You look...nice.” Whizzer said, raising his eyebrows, upon opening the door to Marvin promptly at eight. Marvin wore an _ actual suit _ , with a tie and shirt that matched, rather than one of his usual, random blazer and trouser combinations--which he insisted went together, despite both Whizzer and Trina’s admonishments. 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Marvin said, leaning in Whizzer’s door frame. “But thank you. So do you.” Whizzer grinned, putting his hands on his hips to show off his own meticulously styled suit. 

“Do you want to come in, or-?” Whizzer asked, stepping to the side to gesture into his apartment. Bantering with Marvin felt as natural as ever, but other things--like the niceties they’d never bothered with the first time around-- were awkward as hell, and left Whizzer feeling like a fumbling teenager who didn’t know what to say or do with his hands. 

Marvin checked his watch. “We should probably get going, if we’re gonna make our reservation. But later, maybe?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re terrible.” Whizzer laughed, playfully giving the other man a shove. 

* * *

Admittedly, Whizzer felt a little uncomfortable in the restaurant Marvin had chosen. It was the kind of place where all the tables had real, white tablecloths and candles in the center, where the napkins were folded into fancy shapes instead of being used to hold the silverware.

“Wow, Marv,” He whistled, pulling his chair closer to the table. “You must  _ really  _ want to get in my pants.”

“Well...” Marvin said, smiling and making a “you got me” gesture. “The sex  _ was _ really good.”

“Of course it was,” Whizzer replied, unfolding his napkin and spreading it over his lap. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” He winced; bringing up his other exploits was probably not his best move. If Marvin was bothered by it, he didn’t let on--something Whizzer noted as another change. 

Marvin took a sip from his wine glass. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, well, uh, y’know.” Whizzer shrugged. “The usual, I guess. It’s spring, so there’s been a lot of weddings to shoot.”

“Right.” Marvin nodded. “So you’re still doing the photography thing?”

“Yeah. It suits me okay. What about you? Are you still doing the...the, uh-” Whizzer could not, for the life of him, remember what Marvin  _ actually  _ did for work; he wasn’t sure if he ever knew. He knew Marvin made good money--enough to support them both and Jason and Trina for nearly a year-- but not how.

“The investment banking?” Marvin supplied. “Yeah, I am. Doesn’t suit me at all, but it’s too late now; everyone knows you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“You’re not  _ that  _ old.” Whizzer said without thinking. Damnit. He cursed himself internally. That line wasn’t romantic in the slightest. But to Whizzer’s surprise, Marvin laughed again; maybe something had finally dislodged that stick from his ass.

“You know, I think that’s one of the nicest things you ever said to me.” Marvin remarked. Whizzer frowned; that couldn’t have been true, could it? Had he really been that awful? 

“Aside from telling me our first screw was good, even when it so obviously wasn’t.”

“It was your first time, I didn’t want to crush your confidence. And it’s not as if I didn’t get off.”

Marvin took another sip of wine. “Do you-- do you wanna get out of here?”

Whizzer laughed; they hadn’t even ordered yet. 

“You know, Marv, I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 

Marvin took Whizzer back to his place, where they made up for two years of lost time. It was the best screw Whizzer’d had in  _ months _ . He took Marvin in his arms afterward--yet another change he noticed in the older man, who just two years ago would have died before he let himself be held--and just held him against his chest, syncing their breathing. Marvin still smelled of burnt coffee and stress, and Whizzer loved it. 

“I missed this.” Marvin muttered, half asleep already. “I missed you.”

Whizzer pressed a soft kiss to the top of Marvin’s head. 

“I missed you too.”


	10. The Only Man Who Truly Understands Me

“Now  _ that  _ was sweet.” Cordelia cooed, her words slurring together slightly. “ _ That’s  _ the kind of relationship I can actually get behind, with the awkward banter and the cuddling.”

“Yeah,” Marvin sighed wistfully. “Me too.” Cordelia passed him the shoebox.

“You pick one.” She ordered, and dutifully, Marvin reached into the box and pulled out a photograph. This one featured an exasperated Mendel, in his usual sweater-button-down look, standing in the very living room Marvin and Cordelia were in now. Whizzer had captioned it “The Only Man Who Truly Understands Me-1981”.

“Do you think Mendel is more attractive than me?” Marvin asked, handing the picture over.

“Physically? No.” Cordelia said. “But, overall, yes. He’s more emotionally available, and he tries harder. At everything.”

* * *

 

Marvin and Trina were arguing about the Applebaums. Again.  For all the fuss the two were making over the other family, Whizzer hoped these Applebaums were either incredibly boring (if the universe worked in Marvin’s favor) or unbelievably lovely (if it worked in Trina’s). Jason was hiding in Whizzer and Marvin’s bedroom, his usual Sunday night hideout; Whizzer had emphatically warned him  _ not _ to look in any drawers. Mendel stood off to Trina’s side, looking like he just wanted to sit down and cry for awhile. Whizzer could relate; actually, all Whizzer wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep. He’d been so  _ tired _ lately. He’d been attributing it to Marvin keeping him up all hours of the night, but now he wondered if he was coming down with flu, as he’d developed a cough and sometimes found himself hit with waves of nausea. 

“Look at your couch!” Trina’s shrill voice cut through the room. “You don’t get to talk to me about taste!” That was one of her usual insults. It always worked. Marvin became indignant and starting yelling nonsense about her couch. Whizzer sighed and moved past them and into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. 

Once he’d gotten the water, he returned to watch the spectacle at Mendel’s side.

“This is ridiculous.” He sighed, taking a sip through his straw. 

Mendel laughed. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

“Why do we put up with it?”

“Same reason anyone puts up with anything:  _ sex _ .”

“You know, Mendel, I knew there had to be a reason I liked you; I think I just found it.”

“Thanks--I think?”

“You also gave me an idea for how to put a stop to this.” Whizzer set his glass down and sauntered over to Marvin. He leaned close to the other man’s ear and whispered something obscene enough to make Marvin visibly blush.

“Tr-Trina,” Marvin stuttered and Whizzer made his way back to stand with Mendel. “You’re right. Let’s have the Applebaums.”

“I-” Trina paused. “I’m right?”

“Yup.” 

“I don’t know what you did,” Mendel whispered to Whizzer. “But thank you.”

* * *

 

“Yeah, like that-- _ shit _ \--”

“I just don’t understand what she sees in them. I mean, look they’re rich, and they seem to have it together, but they’re so  _ boring _ . I would rather watch paint dry than listen to one of Saul’s-- _ Jesus, Whizzer, do that again _ \-- than listen to one of Saul’s stupid stories. They’re always him finding quote, unquote ‘humor’ in dumb misunderstandings-- _ fuck _ \--and I just  _ can’t _ listen to him again--”

“ _ Marvin! _ ”

“--and don’t get me started on the wife. I mean, the woman acts like she’s my mother, for Christ’s sake. Like I don’t get enough of that from Trina.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes and placed his hand on Marvin’s shoulder, pushing away from Marvin slightly.

“Look, Marv,” he started, practically gasping for air, because he’d be damned if he was going to stop now. “I love listening to your stories about your family and happy het couples I don’t know, you know I do, but do you have to tell them while you’re  _ inside me _ ?” He rolled his hips for emphasis, and Marvin let out a groan that eventually faded into a breathless laugh. 

“You’re right, you’re right--” Marvin said. Whizzer let out a melodramatic moan as he rolled his hips again.

“Oh, Marv! You know I love it when you tell me I’m right!” He teased. 

“Now is  _ not _ the time.” Marvin replied, giving Whizzer a light shove.  Whizzer feigned indignance, then leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Marvin’s lips. Marvin took hold of Whizzer’s face and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss and lazily licking along Whizzer’s bottom lip. It was the exact kind of gesture that Whizzer would have squirmed away from two years ago--hell, two years ago he wouldn’t have even initiated a kiss with Marvin--but that he loved now. He no longer longed to just be close to someone, but to be close to  _ Marvin _ . He wasn’t contented with just being wanted, but with being wanted by  _ Marvin _ . 

And Marvin? Marvin just seemed pleased to have Whizzer in his bed again, and that was good enough for Whizzer.

* * *

 

Surprisingly,  _ Mendel _ was the first to notice that anything was wrong. Marvin and Trina were having one of their usual blow out fights; Whizzer thought it was about balloons, but they had so many so often, it was hard to keep track. He and Mendel sat on the sofa; a few Sundays ago, they’d retreated there when the fight du jour seemed like it would last a while, and they kept going back afterward. Whizzer would make snippy comments, and Mendel would laugh, which was enough of a response for Whizzer because he liked it when people thought he was funny. 

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.” Mendel remarked. It was casual, just an earnest observation, but then Mendel asked if he was feeling all right, and Whizzer immediately put his guard up. He’d grown up in a house where showing weakness simply wasn’t allowed.

“I’m fine.” 

“Okay.” But Mendel used a tone and made a face that really made it seem like it wasn’t okay.

“They’re just not...” Whizzer swirled his hand around. “Giving me anything to work with. I can’t just pull witty remarks out of thin air.”

“It’s not  _ just _ the being quiet thing.” Mendel said, twisting in his seat to get a better look at Whizzer. 

“Don’t start psychoanalyzing me, Mendel.” 

“I’m not-- look you’ve been coughing a lot, and you’re paler than normal, and are you  _ swe _ \--”

“You’re not a doctor. I’m fine.”

“ _ Actually _ \--”

“You’re not a  _ medical _ doctor.” Whizzer clarified. Mendel could see through everything, Whizzer knew he could. The man had been Marvin’s psychiatrist for  _ years _ , he’d certainly heard enough about Whizzer from that to know when he was lying. 

“Have you told Marvin?” Mendel asked, practically shoving his way past all the bullshit.

“No.” Whizzer said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m  _ fine _ . I’m sure it’s just the flu, or something. Don’t tell him anything.” Whizzer did not need Marvin worrying about him and making a fuss over what was more than likely nothing.  A worried Marvin was nothing but a headache for Whizzer, and he was getting enough of those on his own.

“At least tell me you’ll see Charlotte in the morning.” Mendel said.

“Fine, I’ll see Charlotte in the morning.” Whizzer sighed, making a motion of surrender. 

“Why is Whizzer seeing Charlotte in the morning?” Marvin asked, his and Trina’s argument apparently over, an eyebrow half raised in suspicion. The way Mendel jumped out of his skin at Marvin’s voice made Whizzer wonder if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone. 

“Mendel wants me to see if she has a VHS tape he’s missing.” The lie comes easily to Whizzer, though he doesn’t take the same pleasure in it that he might have before. “He thinks he might have lent it to her, that’s all.”

Marvin relaxes. Whizzer does too, now that both men in his life have been placated. Trina called for Jason, who dutifully shuffled out of Whizzer and Marvin’s room. He and Marvin went through the motions of hugging and exchanging goodbyes, but Whizzer could tell the kid’s heart still wasn’t fully in it. Jason offered Whizzer a goodbye, which Whizzer echoed. Then, he, Mendel, and Trina left, leaving Whizzer and Marvin alone; the two of them curled up on the couch to watch TV, Marvin muttering some remark about how they shouldn’t because they had  _ racquetball _ the next morning,  and Whizzer promptly fell asleep with his head in Marvin’s lap.

* * *

 

Whizzer didn’t go to see Charlotte the next morning. Instead, Marvin took him to the hospital. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I write sexy stuff? Nope. Can I create drama and suspense? Not really. Do I love Mendel? Yes absolutely.


	11. My Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting the last three chapters today, because I feel like they have to all go together. Enjoy!

Marvin was crying. Marvin was  _ crying _ . And Cordelia was panicking. Frantically, she searched through the shoe box, searching for something, anything that might cheer him up, because she was not as good with dealing with tears as she claimed to be. She silently prayed for a picture of the time she shaved off one of Whizzer’s eyebrows, while fully knowing that he would have destroyed any and all evidence from that time.

Instead, she found a Polaroid from the hospital room, all seven of their teeny, tiny band scrunched together. She knew it was from Jason’s bar mitzvah, it had to be, but she couldn’t remember asking anyone to take it. They were all dressed up--even Whizzer, although it took both Marvin and Mendel’s help-- and they were smiling, as if nothing was wrong. Of course, Whizzer’s gaunt face and the way he leaned on Marvin gave away the fact that everything was. Beneath the image, Whizzer had scrawled “My Family--1981” in handwriting much shakier than normal, but still recognizably his. Cordelia swallowed hard, hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Without a word, she handed the photograph to Marvin, who tried to brush it away.

“Delia, I  _ can’t _ \--”

“Just look.” Her voice broke. Marvin took the photo and studied for a moment. 

“But how--” Marvin sniffled. “How did this get in here?” 

“I don’t--” Cordelia started, then she gasped. 

Marvin must have come to the same realization, because they locked eyes, and both hissed, “ _ Jason! _ ” 

* * *

 

Whizzer held on for another three days after Jason’s bar mitzvah. He’d cracked a joke about not being able to do  _ that _ to Jason on the day of his bar mitzvah, but in reality he was just as shocked as everyone else that he’d pulled through that day. 

Cordelia sat with him now, holding on to one of his hands with a vice like grip. She was telling stories about college and laughing, trying to pretend as if everything was normal.

“‘Delia?” He asked suddenly, cutting her off in the middle of a story about how she’d accidentally shaved off one of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, Whizz?”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let my dad have my body after I--y’know.”

“Whizzer--”

“Please, Cordelia, promise me. He’ll have me cremated, I know he will; he did it to Adam. I can’t spend the rest of time as dust in a jar on his mantle, Delia, promise me.” He was getting as hysterical as his frail body allowed him to, his voice jumped an octave, tears welled up in his eyes, he squeezed Cordelia’s hand back hard.

“ _ Adam? _ What happened to Ad-”

“‘Delia,  _ promise me _ .”

“I-I promise.” And Whizzer relaxed slightly.

“Whizzer, hey!” Jason’s ever-bubbly voiced called from the doorway. 

“Jason!” Whizzer smiled, and shifted slightly to sit up in his bed. “Where’s your dad?”

“He’s talking to Charlotte.” Jason shrugged. “Important grown up stuff I’m not allowed to be there for, I guess.”

“Don’t they know you’re a man now?” Whizzer asked.

Jason flushed. “ _ Whizzer _ .” Whizzer just offered a smile. Cordelia gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and she made some remark about giving them a moment alone. Whizzer was glad of that; he didn’t want to have to ask her to leave them be for a bit, he’d worried she might take it as an insult.

“Jason, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

Whizzer fumbled for a moment on the table beside his bed, trying to find the Polaroid he’d gotten a nurse to take at the bar mitzvah (it turned out, when you’re dying, they respond to the call nurse button very quickly).  He found it, but struggled to grasp it, until Jason picked it up and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” Whizzer said, then coughed. “There’s a shoebox in the back of my closet--it’s light blue, and I’ve written all over the top, I promise you’ll know it when you see it--and this needs to go in there. You’re the only person I can trust with this job, okay? Your dad is too nosy. You can look at the other pictures, if you want. I trust you, Jason. Think you can do this for me?” He offered the photograph to the boy. Jason nodded solemnly and took it, holding it to his chest for a moment before sliding it into his pocket. 

“Since you’re a man now, and everything,” Whizzer went on. “Will you pray with me?” 

“Sure, Whizzer.” Jason said, giving a smile. “I’m not very good at it though.”

“That’s okay,” Whizzer replied. “Neither am I.”

He held his palm up on the bed, and Jason placed his hand within it. Together, they stumbled over a few words in Hebrew--Whizzer, because he hadn’t used them in years, Jason, because he’d never really learned them. Whizzer let his eyes close and let Jason take over the brunt of the audible praying. 

Whizzer prayed for Charlotte. He prayed that she wouldn’t blame herself for what happened to him, because she had done all she could do. It wasn’t her fault; it was unavoidable. 

He prayed for Trina and Mendel. He prayed that they would be happy for their rest of their lives. He prayed, a little selfishly, that they would have a baby; everyone else would need something to be happy about once he was gone, and the idea of Mendel with a baby made Whizzer smile. More selfishly, and certainly more foolishly, he prayed for more time, because he wanted to see Mendel and Trina’s baby. 

He prayed for Jason. He prayed that he would be okay. He prayed that he would grow up and live a long and happy life, working a career that made him happy and surrounding himself with people who made him smile. He prayed that his parents’ fighting wouldn’t do to Jason what it had done to him; knowing the kid beside him, he didn’t think it would.

He prayed for Cordelia. He prayed that her catering business would take off. He prayed that she and Charlotte would get married someday--a far fetched idea, he knew--and take long leisurely vacations in tropical places, the kind they deserved. He prayed that she’d visit him after he was gone; he couldn’t spend all of eternity without his best friend.

He prayed for Marvin. He prayed that Marvin would move on, that he wouldn’t get caught up on him and spend the rest of his life moping around his apartment like some sad old man. He prayed that the rest of Marvin’s life would be long, that he wouldn’t succumb to the same illness that Whizzer had, despite the rumors swirling around the hospital. 

Whizzer thought he could hear Jason calling for his father in a panicked tone, but the kid’s voice sounded too far away to be real. He thought he felt Cordelia’s hand take his, but it seemed to gentle compare to her usual death grip. He thought he felt Marvin’s hand on his shoulder, and Marvin smoothing his hair off his forehead, but that too seemed too distant to be real. 

He was hit with a sudden realization: it was time. He wasn’t as scared as he thought he would be. In fact, he was quietly resigned to the idea. 

Whizzer took a final, shuddering breath, and let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my Confirmed Catholic(tm) ass doesn't really know how Jewish people pray, so if none of them pray in Hebrew I'm sorry!! Also, I hated writing Whizzer's death, and personally feel like this is the weakest chapter, but it had to be written. Anyway, yeah, that's my rambling for this chapter.


	12. He Made Me Happy

“It hurts more than anyone says it will.” Cordelia said finally, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes. 

Marvin laughed weakly and wiped at his own tears. “You don’t say.” Without a thought, Cordelia swooped forward and took him in a hug. 

“He was happy at the end, I think.” She whispered into his ear. “You made him happy.”

“He made me happy.” Marvin whispered back. Cordelia gave him a squeeze, then pulled back. 

“I don’t think that one should go back in the shoebox.” She said, pointing to the Polaroid still clutched in Marvin’s hand. Marvin made a noise of agreement, then abruptly stood. He carried the photograph into the kitchen, and hung it on the refrigerator door with a dumb little magnet from Times Square that Whizzer had liked. 

“There.” He said, stepping back. 

Cordelia stood behind him now. “It’s perfect.” They stood in silence for a moment, and then:

“Do you think he’s happy now, wherever he is?”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded. “Yeah, I do. Whizzer always lands on his feet.”


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up some Hebrew words for this; it was hard to find a consistent latin spelling of them, so I went with the spellings that came up most frequently. Thanks for coming on this crazy journey with me--this is the longest fic I've written in over four years. Enjoy!

The last thing Whizzer remembered was praying with Jason in the hospital room. But now, he stood before the door of his childhood apartment, feeling better than he had in years.

“I must be in hell.” He muttered to himself. That was the only explanation he could think of, the only reason he would spend eternity _here_ of all places. He had on that black leather jacket that Marvin had given him; that day felt like it was centuries ago. The jacket still smelled of Marvin’s apartment.

Whizzer took a deep breath, thinking it was now or never, and as much as he would like to choose never, spending the rest of time in the hallway seemed like a bad idea, and he knocked on the door.

There were footsteps behind the door, and Whizzer braced himself to be confronted with his father. Instead, the door swung open to reveal a short woman with long brown hair, an apron tied around her waist.

“ _Ima_.” The word fell out of Whizzer’s mouth before he could stop it, one of the only words in Hebrew he still truly knew.

She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “Whizzer, you’re early.” Whizzer slumped into her, hugging her and holding her close, and he cried. She still smelled of home, even after all this time. She still held him close and smoothed down his hair like she had when he was a child. She still _loved_ him.

“Momma--” He let out a hiccuping sob that would have normally embarrassed him.

“I told you he would do this.” a voice remarked, and Whizzer lifted his head to find his younger brother standing behind their mother, his arms folded over his chest, dressed to play baseball. “He’s a much bigger crybaby than he likes to let on.”

Whizzer was too stunned to come up with a snappy retort. He let his mother lead him into the apartment, which was much nicer than it had ever been when he was child. She gave him coffee and cookies and made him tell her everything she had missed in the thirty-odd years they’d spent apart. Whizzer decided to only tell her the highlights, so he told her about Cordelia, how he loved her, but not in the way he was supposed to. He told her about Marvin, and how at first he seemed like the worst mistake that Whizzer had ever made, but how he turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He told her how he loved Marvin, but not in the way he was supposed to. He told her about Jason, who was so smart, and Trina, who was so kind, Mendel, who was so caring, and Charlotte, who tried too hard to save everybody and would rather die than admit defeat. He told her how they’d been his family, how they’d taken care of him and loved him, and how he loved them back, but not necessarily how he was supposed to.

“Who knew you’d go so soft?” Adam teased. Whizzer rolled his eyes, but didn’t fire anything back. From his pocket, he removed the photograph of his little makeshift family at Jason’s bar mitzvah. He handed it to his mother.

“That’s Jason, and that’s Trina, and her husband Mendel.” He said, pointing to each person. “‘Delia and Charlotte, and then that’s me leaning against Marvin.” He saw worry flash across his mother’s face, and he remembered that he was not in the greatest shape when this photograph was taken. He suddenly wanted to take back the past minute.

“They seem wonderful.” She offered after a moment. “I can’t wait to meet them.” She handed the photograph back to him, and silent understanding passed between them. Whizzer nodded and rose, taking the Polaroid into the kitchen, where he stuck it on the fridge with a silly magnet Marvin would have despised.

He took a step back and admired it for a moment.

“I hope they take their time.”


End file.
